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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631276">Boss Lady</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguia/pseuds/sanguia'>sanguia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Blood Kink, Bondage, Choking, Cowgirl Position, Cunnilingus, Degradation, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Fantasy, Female Gaze, Femdom, Frottage, Gags, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, I'll stop objectifying men when I'm dead, Male Submissive, Malesub, Masochism, Master/Pet, Matriarchy, Mirror Sex, Nipple Clamps, Non-Penetrative Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Predator/Prey, Prostitution, Roleplay, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Sexual Slavery, Shibari, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Strippers &amp; Strip Clubs, Tentacle Sex, There's some soft stuff and there's some more hardcore stuff, Vaginal Sex, Vampire Bites, a little bit for everyone i guess!, as much as i think saying Do Not Interact is cringe, blow job on a dildo, doing my god given duty that is giving this world more femdom, i mean it when i say i dont want minors anywhere near my writing lmao, light exhibitionism, men in lingerie, ✨oh my god i hate switching so much✨</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:48:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>209,590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguia/pseuds/sanguia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mostly unrelated femdom-centric stories. They all have some type of plot (and sometimes there's a lot of plot!) to get the ball rolling; maybe it's about a fashion designer fucking an ex-model, maybe it's about an outlaw fucking her hubby after a successful heist, maybe it's about a guy losing a bet and getting his ass spanked, maybe it's about a knight catching a thief and having her way with him... Every time, it's about a strong woman dominating a man.</p><p>The tags do not pertain to every story. The directory (chapter 1) and the summary for each chapter will state which kinks are involved for that particular story. Also, not everything is filled to the brim with smut. Some chapters are more plot focused.<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>HOT</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Directory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Figured I’d do some organizing and make the first chapter into a directory so things are more digestible and people can just jump into whatever story strikes their fancy the most. There is a short synopsis for each chapter, what kinks they include, and word count. </p><p> </p><p>But before that, if you're underage please respect my wishes and click off now. This is an 18+ only zone. Thanks. Also, I hate how anyone has to make this sort of disclaimer in the first place, but fiction is not reality. Please use critical thinking and do not use fiction/porn as an inspiration or a basis to do something in real life sex. If you think anything you read/watch in fiction or porn is applicable to the real world, you're either an idiot or too naïve to be having sex in the first place. </p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 2:</b> Requests/prompt list. Self explanatory. This is where you go to comment for requests whenever I feel like opening this series up for that sort of thing. It also has a list of things I will not write, so it doubles as a rules list.</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 3:</b> “Haute Couture,” a fashion designer celebrates the launching of her new clothing line by fucking a man who she lovingly considers her ‘pet.’ </p><p>Includes: Shibari and sex toys under clothing, hair pulling, face slapping, cunnilingus, panties being used a gag, Master/pet.</p><p>Word count: 5,216</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 4: </b>“Ride ‘em, Cowboy,” an outlaw returns home after a successful heist and does what most people would in her situation-- she fucks her husband. </p><p>Includes: Blowjob on a dildo, pegging, spanking, reverse cowgirl (or cowboy, in this case lmao), probably wildly inconsistent southern accents but we don't talk about that.</p><p>Word count: 4,198</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 5:</b> “The Bet,” A guy loses a bet and proceeds to get his ass spanked by his girlfriend. </p><p>Includes: Spanking, handjob, mirror sex, humiliation, light exhibitionism, utterly ridiculous bro talk/drunken dialogue that I fucking deserve a Nobel prize for.</p><p>Word count: 4,845</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 6:</b> “A Night at the Museum,” Requested by Yoinks - A commoner homegirl fucks a noble and brings him down to her 'level.' Well, she brings him much lower than that. </p><p>Includes: Blowjob on a dildo, pegging, degradation, bratty sub, height difference, standing sex, dub-con, fucking in a museum which is probably sacrilegious somewhere, a fantasy setting.</p><p>Word count: 7,219</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 7:</b> “Neon Lights and Black Lace,” A woman has a thing for her neighbour who also happens to be a stripper. One evening, he invites her to his apartment. </p><p>Includes: Men in lingerie (as requested by rubyeoc), strippers and prostitutes, nipple clamps, a smidgen of cunnilingus, vaginal sex, reverse mating press (also known as the amazonian press), a bleak atmosphere and ending ‘cause it’s set in a cyberpunk dystopia.</p><p>Word count: 7,192</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 8:</b> “The Finest Catch,” A knight captures a thief, and then she has some fun with him. </p><p>Includes: Predator/Prey, bondage, spanking, frottage, choking, a silly Avatar: The Last Airbender reference, a fantasy setting, a ~surprise~ ending.</p><p>Word count: 7,599</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 9:</b> “Thicker than Water,” Requested by Yoinks - A vampire needs a new pet, so she goes ahead and takes what she wants. </p><p>Includes: Blood kink, dub-con, handjob, nipple clamps, brief post orgasm torture, biting, gothic fantasy.</p><p>Word count: 7,388</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 10 &amp; 11:</b> “You're The Pulse In My Veins,” Requested by bbyboijungkook - A prostitute struggling to make ends meet gets a client who's, well, rich as fuck. He decides he must have her as his regular. </p><p>Includes: Prostitution (duh, lol), a piss poor attempt at humour, cunnilingus, pegging (in chap 11), blowjob on a dildo (chap 11).</p><p>Word count: 9,440 (chap 10), 10,616 (chap 11).</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 12: </b> “The Satyr and the Healer,” Requested by RandomReviewer19 - The gist of the story is that a bullied orphan girl meets boy, girl is endeared by boy, they grow up together, and <em> stuff </em> happens. Don’t wanna go too in depth with it cause, y’know, spoilers. </p><p>Includes: A fantasy setting and no smut whatsoever. It’s a plotty love story about a girl finding meaning in her life in a cruel, vain world that hates her.</p><p>Word count: 28,606.</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 13: </b> “Some Exist to Dominate, You’re Born to Crawl,” Requested by JJ - A newly appointed bodyguard finds that she’s kind of sick of the antics of the man she’s tasked to protect. He’s an ass and seems to think too highly of himself, so she brings him down, and she brings him down <em> hard.  </em></p><p>Includes: Non-con (Rashan deserves it anyway lmao), degradation, aphrodisiacs, mind break, sexual slavery, anal fingering, vaginal sex, face slapping, just the smallest smidgen of spanking and cunnilingus, a fantasy setting.</p><p>It should be noted that this story is set in the same world as my Ghorzaverse/New World Order series, but knowledge of it is not necessary to enjoy this story. You can read about Ghorza here: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642039"> https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642039 </a> and here:<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245566"> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245566</a></p><p>Word count: 9,597</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 14:</b> “Blasphemy Never Tastes so Sweet,” A paladin meets an incubus who's just... a little bit eager about something.</p><p>Includes: Bondage, whipping, pegging, pinching clothespins on someone's skin (is there a specific term for that?), sexual slavery (but the consensual type this time!), sadism/masochism, a fantasy setting. </p><p>Word count: 8,431</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 15:</b> “To the Sea of Stars and Back,” Requested by 1Silent_Reader1 - A science teacher gets separated (No, not in the divorced way lol) from his wife because she’s an astronaut who sets off on a mission to look for habitable planets. He pines (a lot) as he waits for her return. Then, years later, her ship is set to return back home…</p><p>Includes: A metric fuckton of plot and then some slightly vanilla sex. Seriously we're talking like 15K words before smut. Has a pining husband, anal fingering, blowjobs (on the dude for the first time since this series began! lol), cunnilingus, handcuffs/blindfolds for a short bit, 69, vaginal sex, a ~sweet~ and ~loving~ couple, a sci-fi setting that my sister calls a 'soft apocalypse'.</p><p>Word count: 23,933</p><p> </p><p><strong>Chapter 16: </strong>An epilogue for "To The Sea of Stars and Back," Requested by Athris.</p><p>Includes: Fade to black sex.</p><p>Word count: 5,102 </p><p> </p><p><strong>Chapter 17:</strong> "Cabin Fever," Requested by a friend over discord - A park marshal and a receptionist get frisky in a winter cabin.</p><p>Includes: POV switching, Handjob, some biting, vaginal sex, bondage, gags/blindfolds, belting, pegging, some... uh... very interesting dialogue that was specifically requested I write (you'll know when you see it), possibly the goofiest opposites attract dynamic ever written.</p><p>Word count: 14,824</p><p> </p><p><strong>Chapter 18</strong>: "Mon petit écureuil," Requested by Ylajalih - A clueless 'man-eater' and her equally clueless and tsundere love interest skip around each other until Stuff Happens. Sort of a regency-era type setting, also with an overt matriarchy.</p><p>Includes: As per the request, no smut. Just two dumbasses learning how to properly communicate. The whole shtick of this story is the role reversal and matriarchy stuff. It's more FLR than femdom, I guess.</p><p>Word count: 17,338</p><p> </p><p><strong>Chapter 19, 20 &amp; 21: </strong>"Hard Work Gets Rewarded," an treasure hunter who moonlights as a prostitute gets a client who gives him an interesting proposition...</p><p>Includes: Zero plot, prostitution, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, spanking (with a belt), brief anal fingering and foot licking, tentacles, foursome (chap 21), male on male (chap 21), whipping (chap 21).</p><p>Word count: 7,681 (Chap 19), 9,773 (Chap 20), 11,807 (Chap 21). </p><p> </p><p><strong>Chapter 22:</strong> "The Bet (Part 2)," Cassandra and Eric are back and the man's ass is not safe. Doesn't really include any bets.</p><p>But it does includes: Vibrator up the butt, spanking, rimming, pegging.</p><p>Word count: 6, 587</p><p> </p><p><b>Bonus:</b> “My Greatest Treasure,” This was a request from anonymous on Boss Lady, but I decided to make it into a miniseries - A fearsome and undefeated dragon demands tribute, and she gets it in the form of a virginal prince.</p><p>You can see what it includes with its tags. It has have five chapters.</p><p>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310105/chapters/66726205 </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Prompts/requests</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A list of rules, sort of.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> <strong>REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.</strong> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>This will not be a first come first serve basis. I will pick and choose what I like, and I will <em> only </em> write what interests me. I reserve the right to not write a prompt if the kink/storyline isn’t to my fancy.</p><p> </p><p>Current backlog is this:</p><p><strike>1: Sequel to "The Bet" (Chapter 3).</strike> Posted!</p><p>2: Drow/her eager slave who is a fox-type kemonomimi (basically a male kumiho). Set in the same universe as my other story, <em>My Greatest Treasure. </em>Maybe.</p><p>3: Rival gang leaders hatefuck that also happens to be ABO.</p><p>4: Something to do with nagas.</p><p> </p><p>In the backburner (ideas I haven't fleshed out yet and are very low priority rn since I may or may not write them anyway. I'm only putting these here so I don't forget about them):</p><p>1: Career woman/househusband. Set in an ancient Asia-inspired fantasy setting. No clue about what the hell the plot is, lol.</p><p>2: Super feminine girly girl/masculine tall dude. Plot?? Kinks??? To be determined...</p><p>3: Wizard nobleman/A guard (or maybe a thief). Includes petplay.</p><p>4: Futa on male. ABO, and male lead is a cumslut whore. :)</p><p> </p><p>That's all that's planned for now.</p><p> </p><p>You can be detailed as you like with your request or just state the kink you wanna read. As I am someone who likes some plot with their porn, I will likely prioritize requests that give me some type of story and character traits that I can work with (I’m partial to fantasy settings, wink wink). Also, while I know this series is focused on porn with plot, if you want me to write something plotty and <em> without </em>porn (or with minimal smut), I’m down to do that too! Just make sure to keep the request overtly femdom and focusing on the submission of the male character. I'm sure you've already gathered as much, but I am only interested in writing F/M couples for this series.</p><p> </p><p>If you want me to revisit a prior chapter and make a sequel to a story, that’s cool too! If something in my backburner catches your eye and you want me to write one of those, that's also fine.</p><p> </p><p>Obviously, real life takes precedence and my motivation varies day to day as this is a hobby and I’m not getting paid to write these one-shots. I also get distracted by video games. I may take a week to write something, I may take a month. Please just be aware of that.</p><p> </p><p>Here is a list of things I will <span class="u"> NOT</span> write (a non-exhaustive list. I’ll add more when I think of them):</p><p> </p><p>Maledom (I mean… duh…)</p><p> </p><p>Literally any implication of switching (I truly cannot emphasize enough how annoying I find it when I’m reading a femdom piece and it starts out saying that the female character usually isn’t the dom and they’re just trying something ~different.~ I also find it immensely irritating when a story ends with the male character saying “now it’s my turn” and switching the roles. Just yuck.)</p><p> </p><p>Polyamory</p><p> </p><p>Cheating/infidelity</p><p> </p><p>Cuckoldry</p><p> </p><p>Shotacon/lolicon (really anything involving child characters in anything sexual is a big fat no from me dawg)</p><p> </p><p>Age play</p><p> </p><p>Lactation</p><p> </p><p>Bestiality </p><p> </p><p>Furries</p><p> </p><p>Scat/piss/vomit </p><p> </p><p>Incest of any kind</p><p> </p><p>Forced feminization/femboys/sissies. (Really just guys in skirts/dresses is a no from me. It's just not something I'm into, so I won't write it. I also absolutely despise dirty talk whereas the domme will mockingly call the guy a girl and call his asshole a pussy or something like that. I really hate it.) Men in lingerie is fine, though I don't really consider that feminization? Idk, whatever. Point is, I'll write lingerie. That shit slaps.</p><p> </p><p>Pregnancy/sex that results in pregnancy (Breeding kink is fine only when it’s about a guy getting pegged. On that note, I won't write Mpreg either.)</p><p> </p><p>Guro</p><p> </p><p>Anything set in a patriarchy (I will either make no reference to gender politics/inequality or I will make men the oppressed sex, lol. I got a niche to fill!)</p><p> </p><p>Female prostitution (I will only write male prostitution, tee hee)</p><p> </p><p>Cock cages/chastity in general</p><p> </p><p>Vore</p><p> </p><p>Sounding</p><p> </p><p>Somnophilia</p><p> </p><p>Shrinking/growth (idk what it's actually called)</p><p> </p><p>“Baby boy” as a term of endearment (I dunno what it is about it, but it makes me want to become a feral chimpanzee and go apeshit)</p><p> </p><p>Daddy Kink (not only will I kinkshame you but I will challenge you to a fist fight if you request this)</p><p> </p><p>Findom</p><p> </p><p>Sex swap (As in, dude is magically transformed into a woman type of stuff. Idk if there's a different term for it).</p><p> </p><p>Force-feeding</p><p> </p><p>Mind control</p><p> </p><p>Non-human genitalia </p><p> </p><p>Probably more stuff, but I’m sure you get the idea.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Haute Couture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This first story is about a famous fashion designer fucking her pet after launching her new clothing line.</p><p>This chapter includes: Shibari and sex toys under clothing, hair pulling, face slapping, cunnilingus, panties being used a gag, Master/pet (sort of), cowgirl position (can sex positions be considered a kink? whatever).</p><p>Special thanks to my good friend ShiDreamin for inspiring me to write this story! You da real MVP. Check out her excellent work here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/works</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The crescendo of the violin reminds Haraya of the sunrise, and it’s soon accompanied with pizzicato and chimes. She thinks back to when she learned how to play in her youth, how its slender strings caressed her fingers, and how she tenderly traced the curves of the instrument under her palm. There was such a divine sense of empowerment whenever she achieved the most marvelous mix of notes.</p><p> </p><p>Over the light, classical music, a distant, hazy chatter can be heard. Inconsequent polite conversation and pointless platitudes. Haraya enjoys her canapé while she surveys the crowd with a hawkish gaze. </p><p> </p><p>She’s not a wallflower, oh no, she’s the main event.</p><p> </p><p>She stands on the glittering, glass floor, looking down at the party below her. Only VIPs are allowed upstairs. It’s a necessity more than anything, otherwise she’d be hounded by insipid reporters and nobodies who had the gall to call themselves ‘influencers’ all night long. Haraya silently revels in the power play, showing these people she’s above them both metaphorically and physically. It’s good to casually remind internet celebrities that they ultimately mean nothing.</p><p> </p><p>A woman she had been expecting and waiting for comes to her side. Her short black hair is styled in a bob cut, and she’s adorned with a lace up corset jacket with a plunging neckline. The accompanying nylon stockings hark to notions of romance, of a sort of feminine beauty. It’s a wonderfully sleek outfit that hugs her form.</p><p> </p><p>But, ah, it’s <em> so </em>last season.</p><p> </p><p>Haraya feels a twitch on her lips. This woman― who while she publicly calls a friend, she privately considers a fierce business rival― might as well be wearing khaki shorts. She should know better, perhaps she does, and she’s trying to intimidate Haraya with her impudence. How cute.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Chantelle,” Haraya drawls, “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself. Have you tried the wine? I’m quite fond of the Screaming Eagle Cabernet 1992. I had several bottles imported just for this party.” She lightly sways her hand, the rim of her wine glass is a perfect band of black and white, as if a fragment of starlit sky races around it. “The aroma of blackcurrants, with a subtle trace of oak. Simply divine.”</p><p> </p><p>Chantelle laughs lightly, bringing her own wine glass to her lips. “Oh yes, it’s not often I get to imbibe such wine, so I take whatever chance I may get.” <em> Hah, </em> that’s an absolute lie, but no matter. “I know you must have heard this countless times this evening, but allow me to give you my congratulations for successfully launching your spring fashion line!”</p><p> </p><p>Below them, Haraya watches some models walk down a sparkling catwalk showing off her work. The shutter of the cameras going off vaguely annoys her, as she’d much rather listen to the swell of the violins and cellos.</p><p> </p><p>She simply nods her head at Chantelle’s praise, and the woman makes a show of appraising Haraya up and down. </p><p> </p><p>“I must say, this yellow compliments your skin tone so well. It’s so softly romantic, not at all like that 1980’s angry neon other brands seem so obsessive over recently. Did you make this dress yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>Narrowing her eyes at the flattery, Haraya nods once. “Darling, you know I don’t wear anything that <em> isn’t </em>made by myself.”</p><p> </p><p>With a smirk, she makes a point to twirl to show off her canary yellow gown. It’s made of soft, satiny fabric, long and loose. A semicircular, high collar made of silk-like materials heads the ankle-length robe. It’s sleeveless, revealing her velvety soft black skin. If she had lived centuries ago, poets would have sung her praises, calling her beauty incomparable. </p><p> </p><p>Haraya <em> knows </em>she’s beautiful, and she revels in the simple fact. She had been a model herself before becoming a designer. She takes both great care in her appearance and of handpicking the models under her employ, most of whom have a similar skin tone to her own. Haraya always liked the idea of unabashedly catering to people like herself.</p><p> </p><p>The two exchange more quips, mostly Chantelle raining more adulation upon her, but Haraya soaks it up regardless. Though she’s not quite dull enough to allow that to let her guard down. </p><p> </p><p>Chantelle wears a large smile. “You’ve such an eye for talent. Marie-Hélène Barthélemy is a wondrous seamstress, I’m amazed you were able to find her in some small French town no one’s heard of. And that new model of yours? The Zulu fellow, Amahle? He’s such a jewel.”</p><p> </p><p>Haraya responds with a tilt of the head.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d simply love to know your secrets. Would you give me the honour of allowing me to speak with some of your sources? Perhaps we can do a collaboration? I’m certain we’d put everyone into a frenzy, I can see the headlines now!”</p><p> </p><p>Ah, there it is. Chantelle wants to scout out and <em> steal </em> away her hard earned talent. It’s no secret that Haraya has many gifted individuals working for her, but she’s not a woman who <em> shares. </em></p><p> </p><p>She laughs, light and airy and utterly underlying with smugness. </p><p> </p><p>“My dearest Chantelle, surely you’ve no need for my assistance. For someone with a brand estimated to be worth $10 billion, I’m certain you’d have no trouble finding your <em> own </em>employees, no?” There’s a subtle jab in her voice, and Haraya smiles at Chantelle covering up her wounded scowl.</p><p> </p><p>It’s no secret that Chantelle’s brand worth is a point of contention for her. Afterall, Haraya’s own brand is worth double, and she had completely eclipsed Chantelle’s in terms of popularity in mere months. The woman had been trying relentlessly to take Haraya’s employees and contacts for her own, and practically begging for collabs as her fashion line slowly but surely loses its value. </p><p> </p><p>Haraya would never say this out loud, since she's a lady who likes to keep up appearances, but she’d love to tell her ‘friend’ that jealousy is a killer in this industry.</p><p> </p><p>She does, however, give another nail to Chantelle’s metaphorical coffin. </p><p> </p><p>“Please take no insult to this, but I’m afraid our tastes are much too conflicting to make a cohesive style. It would be best if we worked on our own… strengths.”</p><p> </p><p>She sees the corner of Chantelle’s eye twitch. </p><p> </p><p>And then, as if on cue, another point of contention comes strolling towards them. </p><p> </p><p>“Haraya! My darling dearest,” a smooth, male voice with a light Afrikaner accent calls out, “Oh I’ve missed you, I’ve been forced to listen to people who babble about the most vapid of things all evening.”</p><p> </p><p>Haraya quirks at the brow at the man who snakes a hand around her waist. He’s a fair few inches taller than her so she has to crane her neck to look at him. He’s slim, muscular, with an almost perfectly symmetrical face and alabaster skin that seems to shine under the light― the perfect model.</p><p> </p><p>One of Chantelle’s best models. Or <em> was </em>one of her best models, he no longer works for her.</p><p> </p><p>He’s Haraya’s pet now and, well, she doesn’t like to share afterall.</p><p> </p><p>“Quinn,” she purrs, “But you’re an expert at vapid conversation.”</p><p> </p><p>He barks out a laugh, his deep ocean blue eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “I’m only interested in talk that’s all about me and only me.”</p><p> </p><p>She narrows her eyes, “Aha, but I wouldn’t want you getting whisked away from me any time soon. You’re like a springbok in a den of lions. Everyone just wants to eat you up, love.” One of her hands slithers into her pocket― she would never design a dress without a pocket. That’s beneath her― and she, just slightly, presses down on a… surprise.</p><p> </p><p>In an instant, Quinn’s knees buckle, but he manages to school his face in a mask, not revealing what he’s truly feeling. He turns his head and nods at Chantelle, “I hope you’ve been well.”</p><p> </p><p>Chantelle makes a response, but Haraya doesn’t hear. She’s far too interested in watching each and every inch of Quinn’s movements, and savouring his reactions as she turns up the speed and frequency on the remote in her pocket. </p><p> </p><p>She watches his Adam’s apple bob. His hand on her waist flexes. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been well, have you tried the k-kobe beef downstairs?” Ah, it didn’t take long for him to stutter at all, “It’s, ah, v-very good.”</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long for him to begin getting red in the face, either. His pale skin makes it especially obvious, and Haraya takes it as her cue to interject before he begins keeling over. It almost disappoints her, as she’d love to see his pleading eyes just a tad longer, but at the same time, that’s an expression only reserved for her.</p><p> </p><p>“My, my! Quinn, darling, you’re heating up. Perhaps you need a moment to lie down, hmm?” she croons, carding a hand through his brown tousled hair, she suppresses a smile with how his cheeks redden further. Her eyes casually flick to Chantelle, and the woman's eye still twitches with barely restrained annoyance. She’s such an acrimonious woman in private, it almost makes Haraya laugh. </p><p> </p><p>Quinn and Chantelle never had anything romantic or sexual, truthfully Haraya wouldn’t have touched him if that were the case, but it’s clear the woman’s frustrated about Haraya taking her most valuable assets as if she’s on a shopping trip. Hah. The difference between them is that she’s <em> actually </em>successful when it comes to snapping up valuable resources. </p><p> </p><p>Then, Haraya looks at the staircase, eying some nuisances trying to get into the lounge. When she looks at them, they begin taking photos of her with their phones.</p><p> </p><p>How rude.</p><p> </p><p>She does a light, playful tap on Quinn’s ass, which practically makes him jump out of his skin. If he were a less restrained man, he would have squealed. Then she sends a snide wink towards Chantelle. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid I have to take care of my beau. Goodnight, Chantelle.” Then she flippantly waves over a bodyguard, “Be a dear and do not let those ingrates into the lounge.” </p><p> </p><p>Without waiting for a reply, she turns to walk towards the exit, a door to a hallway connecting to a room that belongs to her. Quinn follows her as if he’s got an invisible leash― and he might as well be wearing one― and Haraya has some more fun but toying with the remote in her hands. Up and down. Up and down.</p><p> </p><p>She walks as lightly as an acrobat. Quinn meanwhile staggers, at some point leaning over a table for support. </p><p> </p><p>There’s already burning embers in her loins, but Quinn’s almost challenging grin is like gasoline on a fire.</p><p> </p><p>“...Y-You are a cruel, cruel woman.”</p><p> </p><p>Haraya smirks, all teeth, baring her fangs to her cute little springbok. </p><p> </p><p>“Only cruel women get far in life.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Quinn is a red-faced panting mess by the time they’re in her room.</p><p> </p><p>“I had to make small talk with the most monotonous of individuals all day today. And then I had to deal with internet celebrities thinking they can just speak with me. Or even look at me. It was such a tiring evening, my dear. Surely you know I am in need of dire stress relief.” While speaking, she absentmindedly fingers around her remote. </p><p> </p><p>He heaves a shaky breath, “I-I’m ecstatic to provide my i-illustrious services, my darling dearest.”</p><p> </p><p>She places her hands on either side of his head, gaze hungry and lips still quirked in a predatory smile. </p><p> </p><p>“You are such an easy man,” Haraya whispers, leaning in for a feather light kiss, “But that’s just the way I like it.</p><p> </p><p>Her thumb clicks on the remote to its highest setting, and she likes to think she would have heard the buzzing noise of the toy currently nestled between Quinn’s asscheeks if he didn’t huff out a long suffering moan. Even with his buckling knees and arched back he’s still a head taller than her.</p><p> </p><p>That simply won’t do.</p><p> </p><p>Her free hand slithers around his scalp. Her fingers are gentle in his hair for a moment, before it becomes a white knuckle grip that harshly pulls him down. He’s forced to bend his body in a way that he has to look up to her, while she gazes downwards.</p><p> </p><p>Much better.</p><p> </p><p>Especially when she can get a good look at those hungry, begging eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I spent so much time getting his hair styled,” he stutters out with a grin, “Now l-look at what y-you’ve done to it.”</p><p> </p><p>At that, all she has to do is raise her brows an almost imperceptible amount and he immediately drops to his knees.</p><p> </p><p>She can make him do anything, and he’d fucking beg for more. A particular favourite of hers was making him grovel and beg at her feet. She could play him like a violin.</p><p> </p><p>She’s trained him so well. Getting men is easy, but retaining them like she has with Quinn? That was no easy feat. Even when she perused apps that were specifically designed to cater to dominant women, finding the right man was difficult. Especially when she made it a point to not bother with men who compared her skin tone to chocolate. They weren’t worth her valuable time, and neither were dominant men or switches.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, if she had a dime every time a man pulled the fabled chocolate line, she wouldn’t have any need for a fashion empire.</p><p> </p><p>But Quinn caught her attention in another way; he never prompted a conversation with her on an app or anything like that. In fact, she remembers the first time she had seen him naked. </p><p> </p><p>He was a camboy.</p><p> </p><p>His toned body and glistening skin was a feast for the eyes. He had hid his face well, but he didn’t hide the tattoo on his shoulder. A stylized springbok that was a nod to his South African heritage and also happened to be his favourite animal, apparently. And if his tattoo didn’t give him away, his accent certainly did.</p><p> </p><p>When she had first met him during one of Chantelle’s catwalks and connected the dots, she nearly spat out her coffee. Evidently, he was keeping his…<em> ‘side hustle’ </em>a secret from his employer.</p><p> </p><p>Then, she had fallen into a bit of a rabbit hole. She had become, let’s say, a tad bit <em> too </em>invested into his cam shows. Haraya simply couldn’t help herself, he was― and still is― everything she looks for in a man, even if he likes to call her something as cheesy as ‘darling dearest.’</p><p> </p><p>She had become his VIP and soon he had cam shows that were recorded <em> just </em>for her.</p><p> </p><p>It all snowballed from there. Eventually she revealed herself to him and… that, too, snowballed from there.</p><p> </p><p>He no longer models with Chantelle, nor does he do cam shows, and he certainly doesn’t model for her― She always made a point of never involving herself with those who worked for her― so he makes due with being her full-time pet. </p><p> </p><p>She looks down at him on his knees, her gaze never roaming or faltering, she eats up his plump lips with her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me something in that cute little language of yours, springbok.” She commands.</p><p> </p><p>Haraya watches Quinn’s lips dart out from between his lips as he slowly and deliberately wets his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Ek verspreid graag heuning om die mond,” he says slowly and sensually, groin rubbing against her leg and rolling his r’s. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t understand a lick of Afrikaans, but she always liked it when someone spoke to her in a different language to a perhap unreasonable degree. She traces her fingers around his lips, almost feeling the warmth of his fierce blush on her hand. “And what does that mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“I like to spread honey around the mouth.”</p><p> </p><p>She chuffs. “Is that another one of your idioms?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a playful lick on her finger. </p><p> </p><p>“It means I like to woo or butter someone up with flattery. Which happens to be what Chantelle was doing all night,” he smirks, “I got jealous. I like to be the one who reminds you how talented, smart and successful you are.”</p><p> </p><p>Her thumb then goes on in his mouth. He gives a hearty few sucks as she rubs and pushes against his generous tongue. She doesn’t know when, but at some point she had set the toy in his ass on its lowest setting. She takes her thumb out of his mouth, then playfully raises it to its highest setting.</p><p> </p><p>Quinn’s voice goes up an octave when he squeals, and he lurches forward on his knee which in turn results in his face practically landing against Haraya’s crotch.</p><p> </p><p>“Go on then,” she says with a laugh, “Woo me with your praise, springbok.”</p><p> </p><p>For several seconds, he seems incapable of articulating a response as he merely moans theatrically. It sends a spike of arousal straight to her clit and she can feel herself getting wet. Watching this man writhe beneath her, seeing and hearing him unravel… makes her feel truly indescribable. His unsteady voice is intoxicating in all the finest of ways.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You―!!” He practically whines out, “Y-You’re the greatest artist of o-our time, t-truly incomparable, so w-w-wonderfully feminine and sleek and p-practical and― Ah!”</p><p> </p><p>He bites down on his lip, suppressing more whines and low moans. One inhale of his musky scent and Haraya wants to rip his clothes off. His right hand climbs up her thigh, hiking up his dress. Whether or not he’s even aware of his actions, she doesn’t know, but his fingers short circuits her mind in the best possible way.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand goes in his hair again, and she tugs sharply, snapping his head back. </p><p> </p><p>“Take off your clothes. And make sure to give me a show.” She says hungrily.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>When she sets the toy to a lower setting, Quinn steadies his breathing, and he swallows thickly.</p><p> </p><p>There’s still a hint of challenge in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Slap me.” He says with a grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s only natural that my cruel lioness roughs me up, no?”</p><p> </p><p>Well, he doesn’t need to tell her twice. Showing no mercy, she backhands him in the cheek. There’s a tingle of pain on her hand, but the sheer, raw <em> pleasure </em>she feels seeing the red welt form on his already scarlet face feels like an electric bolt down her spine. He gasps sharply when he reels back from the impact, and Haraya finally takes note of his tented pants.</p><p> </p><p>Hand in his hair once more, she leans down to smash their mouths together. Their lips fit perfectly― as if they were meant for each other. Moving against each other, feeling each other. Haraya grabs the back of Quinn's neck, growling in the kiss as he whimpers in pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>In the midst of their tongues intertwining with one another, Quinn’s hands fumbles with unbuttoning his shirt. When they part, Haraya's eye catches the bright red rope that crisscrosses against Quinn’s chest. She had tied the rope around him herself, as well put the toy inside him, but seeing the shibari on him still feels like a delightful surprise.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, he’s wrapped up like a christmas present.</p><p> </p><p>And she intends to indulge herself fully.</p><p> </p><p>With a gleeful smile she slaps him again, the loud clap in the air sends shockwaves of pleasure throughout the both of them, and when she speaks there's laughter in her voice. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, you pretty thing. I just want to destroy you."</p><p> </p><p>With a low groan, Quinn grinds his hips again, lips parted in pure ecstasy. "Please do, my darling dearest, my lioness, my leeuwyfie― skeur my uitmekaar―"</p><p> </p><p>He continues to babble on in Afrikaans, and with little to no effort, Haraya makes him stand with her hand in his hair. She pulls him along, forcing him to walk with an ungainly gait as he continues to keep his head below hers. Soon, she unceremoniously shoves him on the bed. She takes a moment to savour the image in front of her― an impossibly handsome man with ropes splayed around his body, lying down on silken sheets as he pants and careens for her touch. </p><p> </p><p>In seconds she's crawling all over him, kissing Quinn's earlobe first, softly, with just the right hint of passion, then she works her way down his neck to her collar bone. Her mouth playfully nips and licks. The moment her lips make contact with his skin, all resistance crumbles― not like he had much to begin with. She takes in his pine-scented body as the kisses become harder and more urgent. Her hand slithers down to pinch one of his nipples, while another hand skates across his waist.</p><p> </p><p>Another wave of pure pleasure runs through her entire body when he arches his back and moans.</p><p> </p><p>She sits up, admiring her work. Red cheeks, red rope, red lipstick marks― he really is a piece of art. Though if Haraya is allowed to be especially indulgent, she’d say the male body was a piece of art in general. Something beautiful, a canvas for her to scratch, to pinch, to slap, to hit. Something to be savoured like the delicacy it is.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand is still on his nipple, and she grips his other one. She gently circles his nipples with her fingers for several seconds, then she doesn’t spare any mercy when she pushes, pulls and twists.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah… haah, ahn!”</p><p> </p><p>Haraya can feel his cock press against her, begging to be freed from the confines of his pants. She soaks in his moans, music to her ears― even better than the crescendo of a violin. She could listen to him whine for hours. <em> Days, </em>even. Such a shame she probably can’t edge him for that long.</p><p> </p><p>She feels slim fingers trail up her thighs, then her torso. He’s probably going to try to cup her breasts. Not that she minds, but she imagined things to play a little differently tonight.</p><p> </p><p>She backhands him.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, his face must be stinging quite a bit by now, and naturally he likes it. Even with the three or so layers of clothing between them she can feel his cock twitch. Goosebumps lines her skin when a small but teasing smile forms on Quinn’s lips.</p><p> </p><p>“J-Jy speel graag met jou kos, h-huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Humming non-committedly, she reorients his face with a single, coy finger so that he’s looking directly at her again. “You just said something about food. I think it’s high time I… give you something to eat, hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>Her cunt is throbbing.</p><p> </p><p>And she’s got a pretty man with pretty lips lying beneath her.</p><p> </p><p>It’s only natural she makes use of his talents.</p><p> </p><p>She takes off her dress, it doesn’t take long, her experience as a runway model has given her many talents― namely being able to get out of her clothes with minimal effort. Next, she shimmies out of her lace panties, and it’s thoroughly soaked. With a predatory grin she says, “Maybe if you please me really well, your cruel lioness won’t eat you up, darling.”</p><p> </p><p>He watches her hungrily when she crawls further up his body, a hot intensity in both their gazes is only a prelude to the inferno about to come.</p><p> </p><p>Quinn licks his lips when Haraya’s cunt is right above his head, and she rewards his enthusiasm by lowering herself on his face. He gets to work immediately, and when she feels his tongue slather her wet cunt she lets out a low, carnal groan. She reaches down to her clit, and her other hand gropes her breasts. </p><p> </p><p>She grinds her cunt across his face, back and forth, back and forth. Her labia only grows hotter with each stroke of his tongue. Grabbing ahold of his hair once more, she pulls, as if his face wasn’t already pressed against her crotch as is. She laughs cruelly at his almost pleading eyes, but she can feel his smile.</p><p> </p><p>While he continues to taper his tongue in and around her labia, she cranes her head to look behind her, seeing that at some point Quinn had freed his veiny cock from the confines of his pants. She watches it drip with precum, and every time she grinds on his mouth it bounces. When Quinn suckles on her clit, she pulls on his hair again, throwing her head back in ecstasy. </p><p> </p><p>Every noise he makes, be it a groan, a whimper or a slurp, only serves to make her fall further into the throes of pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>Looking back, his almost swollen nipples look <em> lonely. </em>Ah, she wishes she had brought her clamps with her. She could have had endless fun pulling those. </p><p> </p><p>Quinn cups her asscheeks with both his hands and Haraya tightens her thighs around his face. It spurs him on, and he tongue fucks her with even more vigour. Her vagina then begins to tense around his tongue, constant tingles of pleasure assailing her body, and she continues to relentlessly press against his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Her body soon convulses in intense waves as her orgasm washes over her. Every part of her body tightens, and whiteness briefly flashes through her vision. Breathing heavily, her shoulders rise up and down, letting the aftershocks pass through her. Quinn had stopped licking her when she climaxed, though he, perhaps playfully, gives another stroke while she composes herself. She smiles widely at it, and lifts herself off him.</p><p> </p><p>She takes a few seconds to relish the image of his face soaked in her fluids.</p><p> </p><p>Licking his lips and humming like he had just eaten something delectable, he speaks with mirth in his voice. “Delicious. Give my compliments to the chef.”</p><p> </p><p>That makes Haraya snort. “Looks like my little springbok still has some energy in him.” With that, she reaches over to tap his cheek, though he pretends to throw his head back like she slapped him again. “I still want to eat you up, however.”</p><p> </p><p>Eat him up in a very <em> specific </em>manner, and Quinn obviously gets her meaning because his expression is one of pure anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>She lines his cock with her entrance, teasing him when she rubs against him but not going allowing him inside of her. </p><p> </p><p>At his whimper, she bares her fangs. “Spread honey around my mouth.” She says coyly, “Woo me.”</p><p> </p><p>Face now contorting into desperation, Quinn blabbers on.</p><p> </p><p>“O-Oh, nngh… You’re w-wonderful, one of a kind, f-fucking show stopping… a-hah…”</p><p> </p><p>His cock is as red as his face, and both look deliciously pathetic. Cocking her head to the side, she continues teasing him, and his voice goes up an octave, brows knitted in growing frustration.</p><p> </p><p>She's an unapologetically sadistic woman. She <em> is </em>a lioness, afterall.</p><p> </p><p>“M-M-My darling de-dearest… p-please…”</p><p> </p><p>Now <em> that </em>was a particularly sinful whine, and it reignites the inferno inside of her. She can see tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, and she wants to hear his whine in a different way― through a gag. </p><p> </p><p>Picking up her discarded and still wet panties, she shoves it into his mouth. She savours the moment his eyes widens in surprise before he happily accepts the gag. He still whimpers and moans, begging with his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>With a smirk, she finally allows his cock to enter her. The lack of protection is fine― she's a staunchly childfree woman and had gotten her tubes tied years ago. Another long suffering moan erupts from Quinn, only increasing in volume as she begins to rock her hips. His hands find purchase on her thighs once more, gripping them with an almost bruising hold. </p><p> </p><p>She watches his body shudder at the maddening pleasure. She soaks in every movement, every expression, every noise. It’s all wonderful, intoxicating, stupendous― all coalescing to her own increasing delight. Her cunt is still soaked, her fluids continuing to seep out of her. Their bodies are slicked with sweat, and the heedy musk of sex lingers heavily in the air. </p><p> </p><p>When she fiercely constricts her vaginal walls against his cock, he begins to lift his upper body, as if wanting to kiss despite her panties in his mouth. With one smooth movement, she pins him down with her hand on his neck. She doesn’t push down hard enough to choke, but the message is clear. Quinn obediently stays where he is, and Haraya feels his thunderous pulse against her hand. She keeps her hand on his throat, reveling in his complete and utter submission.</p><p> </p><p>She practically dances on him with how she snaps her hips to meet his. The sounds of skin meeting skin is loud and overpowering, and Quinn’s continuous whimpers make for a fine chorus. His eyes are feverish and wild, while hers are unfaltering and unabashed. </p><p> </p><p>“Mmnngh, nngh!”</p><p> </p><p>Leaning down, she gives him a hard bite to his shoulder, soon teasing his already sensitive skin with her teeth and tongue. When she parts from him, her eyes catch a glance to the discarded remote lying just barely out of her dress pocket.</p><p> </p><p>Aha.</p><p> </p><p>He still has the toy inside of him</p><p> </p><p>With a wicked smile, she takes it, another strike of electrifying pleasure flowing through her when she sees his eyes widen once more― but this time in recognition. </p><p> </p><p>She dials up the toy to its highest setting. </p><p> </p><p>His body shudders violently, and their hips beat against one another, sending the two of them towards the threshold of orgasm at once. At some point, the panties fall from Quinn’s mouth, and his tongue slovenly hangs from his lips as he moans like a whore from a street corner.</p><p> </p><p>“Nnggh, o-ooh… haah―!!”</p><p> </p><p>Haraya constricts her cunt again. Quinn howls hysterically. She tightens her hand around his neck.</p><p> </p><p>A pleasant warmth engulfs her as he cums. She leans down, allowing him to move his hands up her back in a hug.</p><p> </p><p>Bodies trembling and muscles tightening, they both are overcome by waves upon waves of pure, unmitigated bliss. Quinn releases everything inside of her as they tightly embrace.</p><p> </p><p>They lay there for a while. Quinn’s panting tickles her ear, and after a while she sits up and he whines at the loss of her torso on top of him. He gazes at her wearing a dazed look. He seems to try to say something, but no words come out. Just more panting and moans.</p><p> </p><p>She grins.</p><p> </p><p>“After all this, I still want to rough you up, darling.”</p><p> </p><p>The night becomes a long one.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Haraya idly traces a finger across Quinn’s body with a featherlight touch. He lies limply in the bed, head pressed against the pillows with a contented smile. </p><p> </p><p>He’s lying on his stomach, too, completely naked. The ropes and toy have been removed, and every now and then Haraya likes to take a glance on his shapely rear.</p><p> </p><p>His face was not the only cheeks she slapped this evening.</p><p> </p><p>Her touch is soon accompanied by her blowing some air against him teasingly, and she whispers. “I’ll be going to Paris in a week to begin work for my next seasonal line, and having a nice little chat with investors. You’ll come with me, won’t you, my little springbok?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a hum, and despite being positively exhausted, Quinn manages to flutter his eyes flirtatiously.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, of course. I’ll follow you until the ends of the earth.”</p><p> </p><p>Haraya smiles. She makes a mental note to bring her riding crop for the trip.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was half tempted to make Quinn say "I'm... I'm voguing!" when he came, lol.</p><p>The next story will be titled "Ride 'em, cowboy." Take a wild guess which kinks that'll include. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)</p><p>Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. If you liked, please consider dropping a comment because I like having validation.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ride 'em, cowboy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After a successful heist, a famous outlaw gives her hubby a good ol' fashioned fucking.</p><p>Includes: Blowjob on a dildo, pegging, spanking, reverse cowgirl (or cowboy, in this case lmao), probably wildly inconsistent southern accents but we don't talk about that.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The horse gallops like it’s got a hare up its ass.</p><p> </p><p>The sleek, black train whistles as it continues to barrel down the tracks. Wind stirs up the wispy sand and the sun’s never ending rays beats down on the rider and her horse mercilessly. Salty sweat rolls off her nose and stings her eyes. Her clothing is overwhelmingly hot and sticky. The stiff, dry desert breeze and the train blows sand into her eyes and makes her hair stiff with salt. Beneath her bandana, her lips are chapped and dry.</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie wouldn’t have it any other way.</p><p> </p><p>This is just so much <em> fun. </em></p><p> </p><p>Every nerve in her body is electrified, and when her horse, Abigail, gets close enough for Marjorie to grab onto the train and climb on it; she has to suppress a raucous laugh. She fucking loves this― the thrill and anticipation, so excited, even giddy. The train whistles again, magnified, and she feels her spirit soar. </p><p> </p><p>She playfully salutes her horse, who’s slowing her gallop, then readjusts her hat and bandana.</p><p> </p><p>Then, she unholsters her revolver. She had picked a very specific carriage to target― one that she had studied for months. She had watched this train stop through her town several times, and she knows exactly which type of passengers go on which type of carriages.</p><p> </p><p>Within seconds, she kicks open the door, whipping out a leather gloved hand to fire at the feet of a passenger to show she means business.</p><p> </p><p>“Give ‘em up!” She hollers, shoving her linen bag in people’s faces. Her intent is obvious, and soon the wild-eyed and fearful passengers begin to hastily relieve themselves of their extortionate trinkets of jewels, leather purses and lustrous furs. The jewelry glimmer and shine, shooting beams of pure wealth throughout the lavish carriage.</p><p> </p><p>The train continues to jolt joyfully over the firm tracks, apparently no one having taken any notice to her approach and eventual boarding. <em> Psh. </em> Amatuers. Or just stupidly self-assured that she won’t rob <em> their </em>carriage.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps they simply can’t see over the ostentatious ruffles. Why are rich folk so obsessed with ruffly clothes, anyway?</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long for her bag of riches to be filled up. It’s a comfortable weight in her hand that makes her skin tingle. Soon she takes the jewels and pearl of a rosy-cheeked and plump older woman. She’s wearing such a garish and ostentatious green that almost blinds Marjorie.</p><p> </p><p>Slinging the bag over her shoulder, Marjorie knows it’s time to make her exit. She’s good, but she’s also just one woman. She can’t risk trying to rob all the other carriages, but really, she doesn’t need to. The loot she’s gotten today is more than enough for several months.</p><p> </p><p>The plump woman points an accusatory finger at her.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-Y-You Devil-!! Lord have mercy, because when you’re caught, the law won’t give you any!”</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie snorts, swinging her revolver around before pointing it directly at her. She’s never killed anyone― and she doesn’t really intend to start now, but she likes to make a point of threatening her anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s Dust Devil, love.” </p><p> </p><p>With a wave, she runs out the door, then whistles for her horse.</p><p> </p><p>Abigail re-emerges from the dust, and she wastes no time jumping on her and making her hasty escape. Easy in, easy out. She was nothing if not efficient. Taking a quick look behind her, she sees everyone looking out their windows in awe, and she smirks. </p><p> </p><p>Soon, she running into the hills, and later into the sunset. She listens to the hypnotic beat of Abigail’s hooves, eventually unable to contain her whooping and hollering.</p><p> </p><p>A job well done, if she does say so herself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marjorie stretches languidly, soaking in the rising sun. It’s been about a week and a half since her train heist and she’s been hiding out where she usually does, an abandoned silo near her property. She had carefully hidden her loot and clothes under a trap door, which is carefully covered with hay and the general decay abandoned buildings usually have. </p><p> </p><p>She had worn all black during her heist, as she usually does, and now she dons high-waist frontier pants, a cottonwood blouse with two-tone scroll embroidery on the yokes and cuffs, and lacer boots. Her brown hair is tied in a tight ponytail.</p><p> </p><p>And, of course, with an outback cowboy hat. A cattle gal like her wouldn’t be complete without one.</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie finishes her outfit by putting on a floral oval pendant necklace given to her by her hubby, Clayton. The day had barely just begun, but she knows he’s awake and likely tending to their cows and chickens. </p><p> </p><p>Rolling her shoulders, she whistles lowly and Abigail stops her grazing to trot up to her. Marjorie pats her neck with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Good girl. Now, how ‘bout we get on home, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>She horse makes a small noise, which Marjorie just likes to assume is one of contentment. Climbing on the saddle and taking hold of the reins, she and Abigail begins their leisurely stroll back to the farm. As she usually does when she comes back home, she takes in the calm scenery― the hills, the trees, the birdsong, the warmth. The tawny grass has bits of green here and there, and soon she knows the sun will provide a sweltering heat when it fully rises.</p><p> </p><p>She takes note of Abigail. It’s probably time to retire her. She’s got brown and white spots, and though painted horses and a dime a dozen around here, she makes a point to always switch out horses to make real sure no one can keep up with her. She’s already beginning to train another one, a stallion this time, one that’s pure white.</p><p> </p><p>After an hour or so, she sees her farm. The old hay barn, the stables, the lofty pastures… her personal piece of heaven.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long before she’s hearing the cows mooing at her return, and just as quickly she sees a recognizable male figure, and her face splits into a wide grin.</p><p> </p><p>A whip stitch vest with a white shirt underneath, tan pants, and a gus hat where underneath the brim is his gorgeous brown eyes. When he lifts his face, she sees his equally gorgeous freckles dotting his gorgeous cheeks and his gorgeous lips turn upwards in a gorgeous smile―</p><p> </p><p>Just…. Gorgeous!!</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie has to stop herself from outright swooning. Every time she returns after several days away she feels like her breath is taken away when she sees him again. </p><p> </p><p>The second she dismounts Abigail she’s enveloped into a tight embrace, her feet lifted from the ground as Clayton twirls her around. Between their intermingling laughter, he kisses her, deep and passionate, then he pecks around her pecks in between speaking.</p><p> </p><p>“Golly, the second I heard the cow ahootin’ and ahollerin’ I knew I would be visited by an angel over yonder, ‘n here you are!” He drawls as he waggles his eyebrows, “Do southern belle angels exist? I betcha. I’m lookin’ at one!”</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie playfully punches his shoulder. “Howdy to you too, Clayton.” Already knowing what’s probably on his mind she continues, “Ma’s back on her feet. She’s a tough bitch to kill, hah!”</p><p> </p><p>Clayton doesn’t know anything about her… career. She had told him she was going to visit family with ailing health a few towns over. He thinks she’s a business woman which she <em> technically </em> is. She sells her loot, but not before breaking them apart, taking off any identifiable aspects, and combining them together to make them completely unrecognizable from their original states. She <em> does </em>fancy herself a bit of an artisan, and she has a small store in town, something like a cabinet of curiosities, and business is booming. </p><p> </p><p>Marjorie never introduces her new stock until at least three months after her heist, and she never sells them all at once. She’s not an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>Clayton smiles widely, his face is warm like the sun. “Great to hear! I was thinkin’ of sendin’ her a care package. Maybe get her some of that lavender she hollers on about so much.” Something flickers over his face, then he takes a newspaper that had been stuffed in his back pocket.</p><p> </p><p>On the first page are big, bold letters.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “THE DUST DEVIL STRIKES AGAIN!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She suppresses the smirk that twitches on her lips. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, this Dust Devil lass… it’s a right ol’ mess.” Clayton says, “She was gone all year ‘n came back! I was sick with worry, thinkin’ that sumbitch pointin’ her gun at you. ‘N what if she steals your ma’s care package? Ugh!”</p><p> </p><p>Putting his hands on his hips, he purses his lips into a thin line. “Don’tcha want me to come with you next time you go to the store? I’ll bring my rifle. We oughta be prepared for that devil thinkin’ she can steal our hard earned salary!”</p><p> </p><p>This time, she does smile at his bravado, and barks out a single laugh. “With a big strong man I ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” She replies coyly. “Althooooough, I <em> am </em>the better shot. Do I need to remind ya who won last year’s carnival shootout?”</p><p> </p><p>Exchanging more quips and pleasantries, the two begin strolling towards their home, hand in hand.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Sweet tea really is the best when it’s enjoyed with other people. When Marjorie indulged herself while traveling there was simply something missing. Now, the sweet tea settles comfortably in her stomach, and she leans back in her chair with a contented sigh. The kitchen tiles are a rich warm cream, the walls are covered with framed photos of their cows― <em> ‘our children,’ </em>Clayton likes to playfully say. While the two of them eat their chickens and hogs, neither of them could really bring themselves to do anything with their cows. So, the bovids enjoy long, lazy lives at the ranch.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, Marjorie smells the aroma of freshly baked bread and Clayton quickly joins her at the table with his own sweet tea. </p><p> </p><p>“Get ‘em while they're hot,” he drawls, “Made with Betsy’s milk. She’s been pumpin’ out a lot recently!” He takes his own slice and slathers it with homemade raspberry jam, practically drowning the bread in the condiment. </p><p> </p><p>Taking a bite, Clayton continues speaking with a grin, and Marjorie finds she’s just happy to look at him.</p><p> </p><p>“I sure do hope my Honey ain’t gonna be leavin’ me again any time soon. You shoulda seen me, I was pacin’ ‘n couldn’t sleep at night knowin’ my sweet’ums was out ‘n about all by her lonesome.”</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie snorts. “I had Abigail with me ya lovesick fool. And unless ma falls down the stairs or what have you I ain’t leavin’ again.” She winks. “I get to have my hubby all to myself, all day every day.”</p><p> </p><p>“If ya try goin’ on a month long trek again, I’m gettin’ out my lasso.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oho, need I remind ya who <em> also </em> won the horse ridin’ competition at the carnival? You’ll never catch me!”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It goes on like that, casual quips and giggles. Though, deep down, Marjorie does feel a smidgeon of guilt. She doesn’t try to leave him often, hell, it’s been months since she went out for her last heist. She doesn’t <em> really </em>go out traveling for ‘business’ that often anyway. Still, she doesn’t like leaving Clayton alone.</p><p> </p><p>She idly rubs her palms on the kitchen table. If this table could talk, it could regale their hard times, their loving times, their worst moments and their best.</p><p> </p><p>When they first built their farm together, they struggled. They were utter misers. Their home at first was barely a shack, and they slept in the hay. Clayton doesn’t have much of a relationship with his family, and Marjorie’s is… well… not actually around anymore. They just had themselves for a painful few years.</p><p> </p><p>So, Marjorie… began to steal. Not from folk like themselves, she’d never steal from anyone who actually needs it. She began with the small things, pickpocketing in town with rich fat cats, taking things no one will miss.</p><p> </p><p>Then it became breaking into homes, and still only taking the small trinkets.</p><p> </p><p>And then… she got a thrill. A <em> real </em>big thrill, her first heist on a horse carriage. It was a spark, an impish glee, that made her heart pound and skin tingle. She perfected her art and image, and now she’s here.</p><p> </p><p>Now <em> they’re </em> here, and Marjorie knows she’ll fight tooth and nail to continue to be able to provide for Clayton.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll tell him the truth… one day… Maybe once she retires…</p><p> </p><p>A feeling on her leg takes her out of her rumination. It goes up, and up, and up. </p><p> </p><p>She quirks a brow at her hubby, who narrows his eyes playfully.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been all by my lonesome, Honey,” he quips, “I felt like some poor schmuck who was waitin’ for their sweet’um to return from a war.” He leans in, lips curled into a lopsided smirk, “Had nothin’ but my pillow for company. Surely ya know how that ain’t any way to spend the evenin’.”</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie unconsciously licks her lips. She’s definitely feeling… something bubble up inside of her. Ah, yes, that was another problem she had consistently while being the Dust Devil. The long, lonely nights… And how she only had her own hand for company…</p><p> </p><p>And how she quickly finds herself hopelessly aroused when she sees Clayton again. Not that she could really blame herself, he <em> is </em>her hubby, and if she’s allowed to be modest she’d say he’s the most handsome man in the entire valley and then some. Utter eye candy. His broad shoulders and toned body― a testament to the physical labour he does while out in the farm. He’s such a far cry from the slim tavern boy with a slight confidence and inflated ego she had met years ago now.</p><p> </p><p>And he’s all hers, hers, <em> hers. </em>Even better, they share certain… proclivities when it comes to bed.</p><p> </p><p>At this point, Clayton’s socked foot is rubbing against her crotch. Marjorie feels an entirely different type of thrill, something like a kind of heady trance that brings a butterfly to nectar. Her face heats with growing anticipation, and her pulse quickens. Looking at his face she sees his hazel eyes twinkle.</p><p> </p><p>She downs the rest of her sweet tea.</p><p> </p><p>“Clayton,” she says, voice with a commanding tone, not unlike when she’s telling people to put their valuables in her sack, “Why don’tcha… go get the Black Stallion…?”</p><p> </p><p>His breath hitches, and she watches his freckled cheek redden. It’s an expression she’s missed sorely after all this time.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, they’re stumbling up the stairs, hands skating and slithering around their bodies, grabbing onto their clothes, and lips smashing into each other.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>There was something about watching a man suck on a dildo that <em> really </em>got Marjorie going. She doesn’t feel his gorgeous tongue, and yet her body feels impossibly warm. Everytime he hollows out his cheeks and makes truly lurid noises as his head bobs up and down she feels like her soul has left its body. Maybe the high of coming off a successful heist is still heightening her senses.</p><p> </p><p>Like the toy’s, er, name implies the dildo is black, however it’s <em> thankfully </em> not in the shape of a horse’s… package. Neither she or Clayton are quite <em> that </em>debauched. It’s thick and girthy, though not quite as big as Clayton’s own cock which is something that makes him endlessly smug.</p><p> </p><p>Every time Clayton pulls the dildo out from his mouth, a thin trail of saliva follows him and then trails down his chin as if he’s a slobbering sheep dog. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey there, pardner,” she says slowly, “don’t just spit it out. Your saliva is, aha, important. Gotta have it for when I put it in ya properly.” </p><p> </p><p>He’s busy licking at the tip when he replies with a smirk, “Why don’tcha make me― Uuugh?! Mhhph!”</p><p> </p><p>Without holding back, she had grabbed his hair and thrusted her hips. Every time she pistons inside of him, she can see his tongue dart in and out, licking from base to tip. Just the visual stimuli alone is enough to make Marjorie wet. She knows she’s hitting his throat deeply, and when his nose tickles her pubic hair and his lips are firmly planted on the base of the toy she holds them there.</p><p> </p><p>Craning her head, she can just barely see the bulge in his throat, and she grins ear to ear to his furrowed brows. There’s a fire in his eyes, and it only serves to stoke the flames in her lower stomach. When he begins to make gagging noises, she releases him, and more saliva trails down his chin when he frees the dildo from the confines of his mouth. He promptly lets it out with a <em> pop. </em></p><p> </p><p>“G-Guh… ah, aaah… y-you sumbitch,” he says with a shaky grin, and dazed eyes. Marjorie isn’t sure if he’s trying to engage in some type of roleplay, but she’ll happily oblige.</p><p> </p><p>She pats him on the check. “See, pardner? All you gotta do is relax that throat of yours, and then you can work wonders, hah!”</p><p> </p><p>Maybe she’s playing the role of a prospector taking advantage of a down and out cowboy, she isn’t sure. All she does know is that she’s always the one bullying him, which is exactly the way she likes it. She wouldn’t settle with anything else, and neither would he. Her dear Clayton doesn’t have a single dominant bone in his body. It’s one of the ways they’ve been able to make their relationship work.</p><p> </p><p>Clayton puts his lips around the tip once more, and Marjorie promptly uses her hips to give his throat a good old fashioned fucking. At times like this she wishes there was a toy that could actually ejaculate in some way. The image of his face covered in sticky white fluid… ah… Marjorie can feel her cunt pulsate at the image.</p><p> </p><p>She knows Clayton is constricting his throat and mouth muscles as wet, debased noises echo throughout the room. </p><p> </p><p>After a few more thrusts, and gagging on his part, she stops and lets him go. Marjorie lounges on their bed, hands going behind her bed as she lies down casually. She lets out a satisfied smile like she had just came on him, and juts her chin out. </p><p> </p><p>“Lookit that. I’m still hard. Y’know what to do next, don’tcha?”</p><p> </p><p>Clayton chortles under his breath, soon his nude body is climbing over and she waggles a finger at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, ah, ah. Turn around. I wanna see that ass.”</p><p> </p><p>Obediently, he turns around, and soon he positions the toy directly below his anus. She bites her lower lip to suppress a cackle when she sees a viscous looking liquid drip from his hole. Ah, he’s always so prepared.</p><p> </p><p>He slowly lowers himself, hands on his asscheeks and spreading himself apart, and the tip enters him.</p><p> </p><p>“Nngh… whew boy… Been a while since I done this…”</p><p> </p><p>A part of her wishes she could see his face right now, but she also never tired of seeing his supple ass. Decisions, decisions… She watches his asshole slowly swallow more of the toy, and soon her eyes rake over the rest of his back, and she drinks in every tan line and freckle she sees.</p><p> </p><p>She has an urge to just snap her hips and shove the rest of the thing inside him, but she knows that’s a type of hurt he doesn’t like. So she just sits back and watches the show.</p><p> </p><p>With how he’s taking her time, she knows he’s trying to get used to the feeling of being filled again. She decides to continue playing her part in the roleplay.</p><p> </p><p>“Oho, so you done this before, eh? Do you usually go out and spread your ass for anyone? Do you beg any woman you see to fuck you? Hey, do you work in a brothel? Ya should!” </p><p> </p><p>Clayton lets a small, almost silent whine, and it spurs her on further. It’s such a <em> ‘tease me more’ </em>sound and the heat she feels turns into a full blown inferno.</p><p> </p><p>“I oughta give you a coupla dimes for your hard work,” she says, “Next time, I hafta invite a coupla friends. Give ya a proper pounding.”</p><p> </p><p>She can see his sphincter muscles twitch and his thighs shake. After a few more seconds of more mocking jeers on her side he reaches the base of the toy and sighs. He sits there a moment, and he looks back with almost bashful eyes and a flushed face.</p><p> </p><p>“W-W-Where’s that pounding? Are ya just a-all talk ‘n no sho―oooooh―<em> aaaah!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Marjorie thrusts her hips hard, practically making him bounce off of her, then reburies the entirety of the Black Stallion into his anus. A spike of deep arousal hits when she feels the friction of the dildo’s harness rub against her cunt, and her folds pulsate at the feeling. Clayton’s voice becomes a strangled mess, he gasps and pants and whines― but soon he joins Marjorie’s rhythm of moving his own hips. It’s rough and hard and unforgiving, just like the dust and dunes of the valleys she chases trains in.</p><p> </p><p>The toy exits and disappears into him with no effort whatsoever, and that makes Marjorie laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Lookit you,” she breathes, “Y-You’re so happy to take my cock. You’re squeezing it so much. It-It’s like you were made f-for this.”</p><p> </p><p>She continues pounding into him mercilessly, watching his ass bounce with every thrust.</p><p> </p><p>In a moment of her libido completely overtaken her ration thought, she raises her and-</p><p> </p><p>Brings it down on one of his asscheeks.</p><p> </p><p>The <em> squeal </em> that erupts from her hubby spurs her on further, and soon the sound of her clapping his asscheeks joins the noise of their hips connecting. It’s filthy, and noises are fucking <em> disgusting </em>and they both fucking love it. She hits him again, and again, and again; and his tanned skin blooms into a lovely shade of red.</p><p> </p><p>“Uuu, h-haaah…” Clayton struggles to get any words out, instead sounding like an out of breath whore.</p><p> </p><p>“Forget dimes, I’ll hafta give ya a bullion of gold for this show you’re givin’ me!” Marjorie roars.</p><p> </p><p>With the rate she’s going, she just might break his ass.</p><p> </p><p>Clayton’s moans progressively become more shrill with each thrust of her hips and spank on his ass, and she knows he’s nearing his limit fast. Strong-willed or not, he’s still a man, and they had their weaknesses. Plenty of them. His just happened to involve getting fucked in the ass and spanked.</p><p> </p><p>“Ride ‘em, cowboy!” She hollers, grabbing his hips, her thrusts become more erratic. Her vision briefly whitens suddenly and she opens her mouth in a soundless scream. Her cunt clenches down on nothing, and the muscles on her lower stomach tighten considerably.</p><p> </p><p>Her movements become even more inconsistent as her orgasm crashes down on her in waves, so Clayton finishes himself as he continues to bounce on top of her. Their grunts and moans intermingles into a sinful cacophony of debauchery.</p><p> </p><p>Exhausted and slicked with sweat, Marjorie blearily watches Clayton tighten his ass around the cock again, and he stops and heaves a long groan. </p><p> </p><p>His body convulses and when the feeling of euphoria slowly subsides, Clayton slowly extracts himself from the toy.</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie finds her eyelids are becoming heavier with each blink, and her muscles feel like mush. Goddamn, giving your hubby a good fucking really was a workout for the ages. Clayton lays down next to her, still panting, and he places his head on her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>They stay there in satisfied silence, and the smell of sex lingers in the air.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“What is it that folks say? Save a horse, ride a cowgirl? How many horses do ya reckon we saved?”</p><p> </p><p>Marjorie snorts. “I’unno. Maybe five?” She lies on the bed, still nude, but now clean. Soon, Clayton comes around the corner and enters the bedroom with two cups of sweet tea. He wears nothing but an apron, and Marjorie licks her lips.</p><p> </p><p>“I ain’t gonna be able to go horse ridin’ for at least a week after that.” He says with a lopsided smirk. “Really gave my ass a good beatin’.”</p><p> </p><p>“But that’s just the way you like it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you betcha.”<br/>
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</p><p>He joins her in the bed, and the two imbibe in the tea in companionable silence. The sun slowly sets outside the window, and their room is basked in a warm orange that relaxes Marjorie. </p><p> </p><p>“Love you,” Clayton whispers lowly, “...ust… dev…”</p><p> </p><p>She blinks, turning towards him. “Hmm, what’d you say? I didn’t catch that.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives her a smirk that almost looks conspiratorial, and flutters his eyes bashfully. </p><p> </p><p>“I said I love you, Honey!”</p><p> </p><p>“Heh, love you too.”</p><p> </p><p>Though she feels like she’s missed something important for some reason, she doesn’t mind or really care. The two cuddle together, and she thinks about everything she’s ever done in life. She thinks about her less than honest lifestyle, her farm, her hubby― it’s all so very unorthodox.</p><p> </p><p>But she wouldn’t trade it for anything else.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Bet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While in a drunken stupor a guy accepts a bet from his girlfriend in which the loser gets their ass spanked. You can probably guess who loses.</p><p>Includes: Spanking (Can you tell this is my favourite kink?), handjob, mirror sex, humiliation, light exhibitionism, utterly ridiculous bro talk/drunken dialogue that I fucking deserve a Nobel prize for.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eric clenches his cheeks every time Cassandra’s hand moves away from his skin. Almost immediately it comes down again with a fierce slap. His ass stings, though it’s not a debilitating pain or anything like that. The humiliation, however, is enough to drive him up the fucking wall. </p><p> </p><p>Him, over his girlfriend’s knee, spanked in the middle of their gym… He’s mortified, and there’s no rescue from this complete embarrassment. This memory will be seared into his memory forever and torment him over and over again any time he’s ever in a quiet moment!</p><p> </p><p>Not only that… He’s so fucking hard! His cock touches Cassandra’s thighs, and every hit makes him jolt— causing his dick to feel a bizarre feeling of friction when he moves on her shorts. He distracts himself by moving his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but it keeps sliding down.</p><p> </p><p>“Nngh… uuh…” He grunts, and a particularly hard spank makes him bite his lip. </p><p> </p><p>Why does she have to spank him in front of a mirror, too? It’s torture, seeing himself like this! Cheeks flushed pink, face contorted in... in…</p><p> </p><p>Arousal.</p><p> </p><p>Half lidded eyes, a bitten lip, eyebrows arched upwards.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, he looks like a goddamn slut.</p><p> </p><p>That’s even more embarrassing!</p><p> </p><p>There’s laughter above him. “See, Eric? Told you you’d like it. I <em> do </em>know you better than anyone else.”</p><p> </p><p>Another spank practically punches the wind out of him. His lips part in a small ‘o’ and a whine escapes him. Maybe being proven wrong like this is… is the most arousing thing out of everything—</p><p> </p><p>Let’s back it up a bit.</p><p> </p><p>It all started two days ago—</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Laughter echoes throughout the bar as patrons play board games and watch the hockey game playing on a TV. It’s a dark, barely lit room but that’s what makes it cozy. Through the windows, the diamonds of lead panes, trickles the sallow light of street-lamps. The smell has changed in the years Eric has visited here, it used to be cigarette smoke and stale beer only, but it's certainly gotten a hell of an upgrade. There’s the aroma of the perfume that clings to clothing, skin and furniture alike; as well as the smell of whiskey that is anything but stale. What had started as a dinky little room no one went to has evolved into a fully-fledged tavern that also happens to be one of, if not the most popular hang out spot on campus. It has that tudor feel, white walls, dark wood, reddish carpet.</p><p> </p><p>A sharp smell of drink wafts towards Eric, and he takes a swig of his whiskey. A massive hulking beast of man sits beside him, Derek, who lifts his own glass up.</p><p> </p><p>“A moment of silence for our fallen bro, Alfonso, who couldn’t come tonight because of a gnarly fever.”</p><p> </p><p>There is no moment of silence, instead Eric and two others, Michael and Remi, lift their glasses for a <em> clink </em>and then proceed to holler loudly. Their voices are nothing when compared to the more boisterous voices several tables over so the men make the best of cajoling and swapping awful jokes with one another. Hell, this isn’t the first ‘moment of silence’ they’ve done, nor is it their first drink.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a lad’s night out— or <em> ‘bro’s night,’ </em>as Derek likes to ostensibly name it. It’s something they like to do at least once a week, but it’s no big deal if they miss out every now and then. They see each other often enough, since they’re attending the same university and part of the same track and field team.</p><p> </p><p>“Eric, you’re gonna start training for the 1500 metre run next week, right?” Michael asks, voice slightly drowsy. He’s probably the smallest man— smallest <em> ‘bro,’ </em>Derek’s voice practically calls out in Eric’s head— but he’s also the most agile, and can run circles around most of them.</p><p> </p><p>Eric snorts, taking another swig of his whiskey. How many glasses as he had at this point? He’s forgotten. With a slurred voice, he replies. “Dude, we’re on the same team. You’re doing the same training, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>Michael opens his mouth, then closes it. He eyes his empty glass like it’s some sort of bottomless well. “Ah, shit. You’re right. I forgot.”</p><p> </p><p>Remi leans in to interject, his bright red hair almost seeming to glow under the low light. “I’ll beat you this time, just you watch me.” He narrows his eyes with a conspiratorial grin, “I heard the secret to running fast is giving your balls a tug before the race. Really gets your blood pumping.”</p><p> </p><p>Both Michael and Eric respond the same way.</p><p> </p><p>“Bro. Brah. Bruh.”</p><p> </p><p>One of the bar’s doors opens, and they’re blasted by the autumn chill. Eric turns his head, catching a glimpse of the nose-to-tail traffic outside. Derek, face already red from the alcohol, looks as though his cheeks are burning light coals; and he claps Remi on the shoulder so hard he lets out the air in his lungs with an <em> ‘oof.’ </em></p><p> </p><p>“Wish you weren’t so fucking awkward, bro,” he says with a laugh, and it’s a familiar ribbing they’re all used to and take part of, “But we all know I’m leaving you chucklefucks in the dust. We’re teammates but I gotta be #1 as the captain!” Then he lets out a slightly disgusting belch, but everyone else soon joins him in trying to burp the loudest.</p><p> </p><p>They exchange more banter, imbibe in more alcohol—at some point trying out some fruity cocktails— and as the night grows older the bar becomes quieter as patrons stumble out into the cold evening.</p><p> </p><p>At some point, the topic of conversation becomes about their girlfriends.</p><p> </p><p>“Bro I can't wait to get married. It’s gonna be fucking awesome being married to my best friend. No offense, bro,” Derek says towards Eric, then bellows another hiccup, “but Fiona is pretty much my #1 bro. A lady-bro, if you will.”</p><p> </p><p>The men, in a drunken stupor, do another cheer and holler, raising their glasses for yet another toast. They congratulate each other, and sometimes themselves. Remi begins to sniffle as if Derek actually just announced his wedding and tearfully gives him a hug.</p><p> </p><p>Their girlfriends are having their own gal’s night. They like to coordinate their nights out so that one group can be the designated drivers. They take turns on who gets to have booze, and tonight the gals’ plan was to watch a movie and have dinner at a newly opened Chinese restaurant before picking up the lads.</p><p> </p><p>Judging by the time— which Eric can barely discern considering his current state of mind— they’ll be picking them up soon.</p><p> </p><p>In no time, his mind is filled with images of Cassandra. She’s wearing a sequin dress tonight, it’s short, hugs her curves and shows off her strong, muscular legs.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps it’s the booze that’s getting to him, but he lets out a giddy laugh, thinking, <em> aha, my girlfriend is gonna pick me up soon. Nice. </em></p><p> </p><p>Is it weird that everyone on the men’s track and field team is dating the members of the women’s volleyball team? Maybe. Does it work? Hell fucking yeah. Sports is a big deal to everyone, and they all bond over it. Cassandra is his apple of his eye, obviously, but he’s become good friends to the other gals in the volleyball team because of her.</p><p> </p><p>Rule 1 of bro code, there is no bros before hoes. Bros and gals are equal.</p><p> </p><p>After several minutes of daydreaming about Cassandra’s face and body, the sudden onset of more hollering and yells tells Eric their beaus have arrived.</p><p> </p><p>The women appraise their men with quirked brows and smirks. Derek makes a loud noise of contentment and throws his arms around Fiona’s neck, despite him completely dwarfing his girlfriend. He pecks her on the cheek, then again, then again. If he had been wearing lipstick, she would soon be covered in bright red marks. He buries his face in Fiona’s big, poofy hair, and practically purrs.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit, babe. You smell good.”</p><p> </p><p>Fiona snorts, “Uh huh. Come on, let’s get to the car tough guy.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Blinking blearily, Eric watches his friends get collected by their girlfriends, and they stumble and amble awkwardly out the door. Maybe it’s the whiskey, but he almost watches with something akin to stunned amazement when Derek practically belches in front of Fiona’s face. </p><p> </p><p>Then she smacks his ass. It’s a playful one, sure, but still a smack. “Come on, you,” he hears her whisper, her smile clear in her voice. Eric is half expecting her to grab onto Derek’s face and pull him away, but the two make their way out of the bar without much of a scene.</p><p> </p><p>Eric can feel the buzz of the alcohol. Ugh, he knows the hangover is gonna be a bitch, <em> and </em>he knows he’s already gonna make sure he won’t drink a bunch of booze for at least a week after this. Slumped in his chair, he can feel someone melting their body to his from behind and he knows Cassandra has arrived.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you.” She says, and he cranes his neck back to see her standing above him and he stares her at cherry pink lips. “Now that the pack of himbos have left, I get to have you all to myself.”</p><p> </p><p>He was in the middle of thinking if her lips taste like cherry, but a sudden strike of drunken confusion overtakes him.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s a himbo?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a compliment.”</p><p> </p><p>She takes a seat next to him, and suddenly he feels the overwhelming desire to get her a drink. She’s sitting in a bar, after all! She needs to be served! He raises his hand with less coordination than a concussed troll and slurs more than speaks, "Whiiiissssskeeey."</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t really say it to anyone in particular, but Cassandra pulls his hand down. “Nuh uh. Designated driver, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>Eric slumps back on his chair, blinking once, twice. Cassandra gets a glass of water for the both of them and he downs it in one gulp. Ah shit, when he gets back to their apartment he knows he’s gonna piss out Niagara Falls. </p><p> </p><p>He stares at Cassandra, her blue eyes seeming to beckon him in some way. Is it because she’s here? Is that why he’s suddenly feeling all the more drunk? Drunk off the atmosphere? He can practically see pink hearts float around Cassandra’s face the more he looks at her, and he giggles deliriously.</p><p> </p><p>“How was the movie?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Pft. It was some shitty horror movie. The cinema was basically empty so we spent the whole time shouting at the screen about how stupid the characters were.”</p><p> </p><p>“And the food?”</p><p> </p><p>She makes a theatrical display of kissing her fingers. “Fucking brilliant. Chinese food is the best.”</p><p> </p><p>Unthinkingly he collapses his head in the crook of her shoulder with an exhausted sigh and feels like he’s on the edge of dozing off; the action almost causing his glasses to fall off. “Mhm. That’s good…”</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon now, you can’t sleep now. You gotta get to the car first.”</p><p> </p><p>Eric groans reluctantly and forces himself into a proper sitting position. They sit in companionable silence for a bit, drinking more water because he knows he’ll need it for the morning. At some point Cassandra gets herself a small bowl of chips. Soon, he finds him his hand intertwined with one of hers. He wants to focus on her fingers rhythmically running circles around his knuckles, he really does—</p><p> </p><p>But he keeps thinking about Fiona slapping Derek’s ass. Which is so <em> stupid </em> because that’s his <em> bro </em>and his bro’s girlfriend. That’s gotta be fucking weird, thinking about this shit. Really, it’s just more of an observation than anything. Honest.</p><p> </p><p><em> Huh. She really smacked his ass. </em>He thinks suddenly, his mind drifting off to strange images, a part of him wonders how it would feel like…</p><p> </p><p>He must have said that out loud, because Cassandra snorts loudly next to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, she does that a lot. Michael’s and Remi’s asses aren’t safe from Lenore and Harley either.” She says with a lopsided smirk. </p><p> </p><p>Eric has to remember to close his mouth. World spinning, he thinks he’s going to fall off his chair for a moment, and now his mind is abuzz with another… revelation.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you just say all my bros get their asses spanked?”</p><p> </p><p>Her smirk widens, and she flutters her eyes. “Whaaat? Did I say that? Man you’re drunk.” She leans forward, and unconsciously Eric leans back, suddenly feeling shy and belatedly he realizes his face is red hot. He keeps staring at her plump lips, and his eyes become half-lidded.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that…” she says lowly, “...something you’re interested in, Eric? I think you’d like it.”</p><p> </p><p>He swallows heavily. <em> Aha, </em> he thinks to himself, <em> t-think the booze is hitting early and I’m getting dehydrated… </em></p><p> </p><p>“It sure is an… idea.” He says dryly.</p><p> </p><p>Cassandra leans in further, and suddenly he’s reminded of the fact that she had boobs when she presses into his arm. His giddy, drunken smile fades, and his expression grows deep. His eyes stare intently back at Cassandra, examining her; surveying her. His mind is muddled, but everything becomes all the more thrilling.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes travel down his eyes, and she slowly reaches forward to push his glasses back up his nose.</p><p> </p><p>Then she juts her chin to the direction of one of the TVs. “The Vancouver Canucks and Montreal Canadiens are playing against each other tonight. I’m rooting for the Canucks.”</p><p> </p><p>He purses his lips into a slight pout. His body is growing warm, and he’s besieged by more confusion at the change of topic. “You always root for the Canucks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. No one likes French people, Eric, especially the Québécoise. I’m just rooting for the objectively right team,” she says playfully.</p><p> </p><p>Eric raises his voice an octave, his voice slurred and he holds onto Cassandra’s shoulders. “Eeeeeeh? But <em> I’m </em> Québécoise!”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>She throws her head back in a laugh, her long auburn hair almost whipping him in the face. “And so you root for the Canadiens… How about we make a bet?” Her voice becomes a low sultry whisper again, “Whoever’s team wins… is the winner, and the winner gets to spank the other’s ass.”</p><p> </p><p>Eric thinks he might have started drooling in the middle of that. He really is trying not to get sidetracked by their close proximity but now he feels like his head is on fucking fire. There is of course a small voice quietly nagging at the back of his mind, reminding him that <em> uh, hello, she’s your fucking girlfiend you dumbass. Stop acting like a virgin. </em></p><p> </p><p>He nods mutely. The very idea of <em> him </em> spanking <em> her </em>ass just seems unnatural. She’s always the more dominant one in bed and she made it clear in the start of their relationship she has absolutely no interest in switching. Not that he minds, he enjoys being the docile partner anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, she’s gotta just be fucking with him.</p><p> </p><p>In the end, he just smiles crudely and inclines his head on her shoulder. He doesn’t remember much after that.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As it turns out, the Canucks won. Sober and after taking a day to compose himself for the ass whooping he’s going to submit himself to, Eric now drags Cassandra to their University’s gym in the dead of night.</p><p> </p><p>“You do know you don’t have to do this, right? You were drunk, and I was just teasing. Hell, I didn’t think you’d remember it anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Eric wills himself to look at Cassandra, immediately averting his gaze when he sees her smirking at him. It feels like his face is warm enough to steam up his glasses. “A-A bro never goes back against his word. A bet’s a bet.” He hears her snort, but continues, “Besides… It <em> is </em>an idea I’m interested in.”</p><p> </p><p>When he was sober and found out the results of the hockey, he basically barreled into her room and yelled at her to put him over her knee. Maybe he was a bit too enthusiastic. <em> Maybe. </em>He’d call it… curiosity.</p><p> </p><p>In that moment, he feels hot air being blown at his ear and goosebumps immediately assails his entire body. Quickly taking two steps ahead, he puts a hand on the side of his face and turns to give Cassandra an embarrassed glare.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever he was planning to say dies down in his throat the second he sees her eyes. They’re narrowed, coy, almost predatory. When she licks her lips his face feels hotter.</p><p> </p><p>It’s the face she always wears when she’s about to fuck him.</p><p> </p><p>“I find it pretty interesting you picked the gym of all things,” she says lowly, her fingers playfully going under his shirt, the action causing a jolt to flow through his body. “You exhibitionist.” </p><p> </p><p>She’s right, of course, that’s <em> exactly </em> what he is. One of his favourite things ever is when she gives him a handjob in public places. They always bring wipes and disinfectant because they’re not <em> that </em>degenerate. Granted, actually getting caught fucking terrifies him, so they only do it in spaces he knows for a fact they won’t get caught.</p><p> </p><p>“...You said the security cameras in the gym aren’t working right now?” He asks throatily, swallowing when her hand goes up and down his abs. She’s so tantalizingly close yet so far at the same time. He doesn’t dare reach out, however. He’s already fallen into a very specific headspace, one that tells him <em> no touching until she lets you. </em></p><p> </p><p>Cassandra’s hand reaches towards one of his nipples, giving a play pinch, and he can feel his cock twitch. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, the cameras are borked right now. You know Eliza, my cousin? She works for security here and she told me. And I saw it myself. It was yesterday and I know for a fact they’re still not working for now.” Her face softens, “Though if you’re having seconds thoughts—”</p><p> </p><p>“N-No, I trust you.” Eric interrupts softly, “It’s fine. I want to do it.”</p><p> </p><p>She appraises his face for a moment, before curling her lips further into a coy, seductive grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Lookit you being all excited to get your ass smacked around.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>And now he’s here.</p><p> </p><p>On her lap, pants around his ankles.</p><p> </p><p>His ass stinging.</p><p> </p><p>They’re a bit of an odd couple, sure, what with the whole exhibitionism thing. But Cassandra had never <em> hit </em> him before. Every smack on his cheek was utterly <em> intoxicating, </em>like a glass of a new brand of whiskey he could easily become addicted to.</p><p> </p><p>He bites down another whimper when yet another resounding <em> smack </em>echoes in the empty gym. Then something not only stirred in him, but it takes over his thinking.</p><p> </p><p>There’s another reason he chose the gym.</p><p> </p><p>It’s got a big ass wall mirror.</p><p> </p><p>That makes two things he likes, public places and seeing himself get wrecked. Well, three, if you count Cassandra but she’s in a league of her own. These factors <em> really </em>get him going and he has to makes a concentrated effort to not just finish then and there.</p><p> </p><p>He’s on the goddamn track team for fuck’s sake! He’s supposed to have more stamina than this!</p><p> </p><p>But when there’s another spank that sends tingle down his spine, the world becomes an unimportant blur that was banished into the far recesses of his mind. The only thing that matters is Cassandra hand painting his ass crimson. After a moment, he has to wipe his mouth after he had left it open and began drooling. Seriously, who the fuck does that anyway? He’s such mess and it’s only been a fucking <em> spanking! </em></p><p> </p><p>...Maybe he’s found something else he likes.</p><p> </p><p>Her hands are not gentle, they’re calloused, especially since carpentry is a hobby of hers. It really feels like she’s giving him splinters with every hit. Or maybe he’s imagining the extra pain. Maybe he’s losing his mind. Maybe he’s actually right and she’s hitting him like his fucking ass is goddamn volleyball.</p><p> </p><p>Either way, he doesn’t mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Nnggh...ugh…” He grits out, and Cassandra pauses. Not to see if he’s alright, she obviously already knows that, but she takes the moment to savour his debauched state.</p><p> </p><p>Then she gives his inflamed ass a pinch, he kicks up one of his legs unconsciously and she laughs, which only serves to make his heart beat faster. There is something so disarming about her laughing at him— the vulnerability, the humiliation… he doesn’t know what arouses him more. Looking in the mirror, and he sees she’s smiling. It’s such a gentle, serene smile, nothing like he would expect from someone who’s currently got her damn boyfriend over her knee like this.</p><p> </p><p>She makes a show of smoothing her hand over his cheeks, which makes him clench his ass. She pushes down gently, which makes him clench again.</p><p> </p><p>Then she hits him again.</p><p> </p><p>Eric’s heard jerks upwards, and his groaning voice bounces off the walls. The action almost makes his glasses fly off his face. </p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t hurt, really it doesn’t, but his mind makes him feel like he’s currently getting punched in the fucking gut and he <em> loves </em>it. Cassandra gives him no rest this time, her alternating strikes downing down fast and hard and his groans become louder every time her hand makes contact with his skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Haah-!!”</p><p> </p><p>She cackles above him. “Oho, you’re so delighted! Every time I hit you I can feel your cock twitch and drip. I really should have suggested this years ago.”</p><p> </p><p>Another swing of her hand, another <em> clap. </em>Her hand is like a snake attacking its prey, sparing him no mercy.</p><p> </p><p>“K-Kuuh! Nngh!”</p><p> </p><p>Whatever composure he had vanishes with the next onslaught of her spanks, opening his mouth and eyes in a slutty expression as if he’s unable to think of anything except for indulging in pleasure and completely submitting to Cassandra. Which is, well, not really anything up for debate— he’s utterly lost in her touch. Even his vision becomes blurry.</p><p> </p><p>Like he’s trying to match the movement of her arm, Eric raises his hips each time she’s about to hit him, and his whimpers and moans soon have a rhythmic nature to them— his voice also matches her spanks. </p><p> </p><p>“Gah! Ungh! Ngh!”</p><p> </p><p>The intense pleasure seems like it’s going to snatch away all of his barely remaining reason. </p><p> </p><p>He arches his back for his ass to meet her hand, but her hits suddenly stop. A second passes, and another, then he throws his head back to look at the mirror, a whiny complaint on the cusp of his lips.</p><p> </p><p>His image on the mirror makes him stop.</p><p> </p><p>He’s drooling again, his legs tremble and somehow unbeknownst to him his glasses have flown off in the midst of his ass beating…. That probably explains the blurry vision…</p><p> </p><p>The more he looks at himself, the more warm his entire body feels.</p><p> </p><p>Ah… sweet, sweet humiliation.</p><p> </p><p>Cassandra huffs, her lips curled in a lopsided smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“Glad you enjoyed that, and as much as I’d like to check if I can make you cum with spanking alone, I’m afraid my hand’s getting tired. On your knees.” She commands with a tone of finality. </p><p> </p><p>With a full body tremble with a shaky smile that’s like the smile of a child who is determined not to weep, Eric does as commanded after getting his glasses back. His cock is fully hard, dripping with precum and he knows he’s probably a mess on Cassandra’s legs.</p><p> </p><p>She kneels directly behind him, and with the mirror he sees her coy eyes checking his body out. He’s not gonna lie, it’s a bit of a confidence booster. Cassandra leans forward, takes the hem of his shirt and pulls it off him, then she kisses his shoulder. He feels another wave of goosebumps swim over his skin. She spits on her hands, and he knows what’s about to happen.</p><p> </p><p>Then her hands snake to his cock and he doesn’t even bother hiding the moan that escapes him. They’re warm like his cheeks, and he briefly wonders if her hands sting at all from the walloping she just gifted him.</p><p> </p><p>She gives him a long, languid, almost cat like lick on the base of his neck. Then she gives him another, then another, finished off with a small little nibble where her teeth just graze his skin. He watches them both intently in the mirror, panting heavily.</p><p> </p><p>Eric thinks he might get a heart attack. He can see the headlines now, <em> University bro dead because he couldn’t handle a little spoiling from his girlfriend. What a pussy. </em></p><p> </p><p>With movements that speak of her experience, Cassandra moves her hands to stroke him with slightly laboured breathing. Even her fucking <em> breathing </em>acts as a stimulant, making his body tingle all over. Ah, fuck, he’s absolutely whipped for this woman, but it’s not like he’d have it any other way.</p><p> </p><p>Her cool breath feels like a strange juxtaposition to the burning coals that reside in his body. She blows on his ear, making his eyes flutter shut for several seconds. When he opens, he watches his own reflection. Slack-jawed, eyes half-lidded, body covered in a thin layer of sweat. </p><p> </p><p>And Cassandra, her eyes never faltering or leaving his as she leans in to give him another bite, this one is harder.</p><p> </p><p>Eric throws his head back with a low groan.</p><p> </p><p>She strokes up and down from base to tip, her saliva providing a pleasurable slickness. It’s a sleek sensation, and his cock throbs with the blood flowing through it. One hand twists around the foreskin beneath his glans, and her long, thin fingers touch the exposed head, making more precum to drip from his urethra.</p><p> </p><p>Cassandra alternates between licking, kissing, and biting his shoulder and neck.</p><p> </p><p>“I like seeing your expressions,” she whispers before nibbing at him again, “I like it when I have my own personal whore.”</p><p> </p><p>Eric gulps audibly, the word <em> whore </em>bouncing around his head and making the blush on his face extend to his shoulders and chest. “Y-Y-Yup… that’s me… your whore…”</p><p> </p><p>A sloppy, wet sound rings out when she increases the speed of which she strokes him. Her growing enthusiasm shows on her face, and he can’t help but smile widely with her.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you about to cum?” Cassandra whispers slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I-I’m d-definitely getting close…!”</p><p> </p><p>He feels her smile against his shoulder, and she gives him another long lick.</p><p> </p><p>The strokes become more rapid. It’s a steady, rhythmic motion like it always is, one that it’s clear she has a strong will to completely drive him over the edge. </p><p> </p><p>“You can cum whenever you’d like.”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice numbs his brain, he wants to cum… He wants to cum <em> so </em>badly…. He wants—!!</p><p> </p><p>His entire body convulses violently and his vision flashes with white. With a raising howl that goes beyond delight and ecstasy, he shoots out thick semen shoots from the tip of his swollen glans. Cassandra doesn’t stop stroking him up and down, and she effectively squeezes out the semen from the base of his cock.</p><p> </p><p>Everything is shaking, his body, his vision, his breath, his lips— he thinks he might just melt into a puddle. The aftershocks continue to assail him, leaving his mind into a hazy, divine emptiness.</p><p> </p><p>Blinking the world back to focus, he sees his semen is splattered all over the mirror. He’ll obviously clean that once he’s composed himself, but there’s a more pressing issue since he’s a <em> responsible </em> and <em> decent </em>boyfriend.</p><p> </p><p>He turns to Cassandra.</p><p> </p><p>“U-Uh,” he struggles to get the words out since his throat has suddenly become so dry, “D-Did you cum too? I can eat you out if you like.”</p><p> </p><p>She quirks a single brow at him, face flushed but still infinitely more in control than he’ll ever be.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I ain’t about to let that offer go to waste.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Eric pointedly avoids Alfonso’s questioning gaze when he and his friend group sit in the cafeteria.</p><p> </p><p>And so does everyone else.</p><p> </p><p>“You guys good? Something happen that I miss?”</p><p> </p><p>Michael shifts on his seat awkwardly, “Had a hell of a night.”</p><p> </p><p>Alfonso quints. “Bro’s night was like three days ago. What did you guys do?”</p><p> </p><p>“A real ass blaster.” Remi mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>Alfonso keeps drilling them, becoming more exasperated when the answers become even vaguer. There’s a sudden clap on Eric’s shoulder and he thinks his life flashes before his eyes when his face almost hits the fucking table. Derek smiles at him.</p><p> </p><p>The bigger man’s eyes practically twinkle with a… mischievous glint that also has a mark of recognition.</p><p> </p><p>“I see you’re a man of culture too, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>Eric makes a strangled noise. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>He, along with Remi, Michael and Derek apparently, spend the rest of the day trying to find a way to sit comfortably but to no avail. When he makes eye contact with Remi and Michael, they just give him an understanding nod.</p><p> </p><p>Eric feels as though he just underwent some type of initiation ritual.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>True bros love and respect their bros because they’re very secure in their sexuality and friendship. They also love and respect their GFs because they’re very secure in their masculinity. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.</p><p>Will I continue making goofy plotlines for my porn? Yes. Will I go out of my way to make all my male characters subs? Absolutely.</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Night at the Museum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by Yoinks - A commoner homegirl fucks a noble and brings him down to her 'level.' Well, she brings him much lower than that. I hope you enjoy!</p><p>Includes: Blowjob on a dildo, pegging, degradation, bratty sub, height difference, standing sex, dub-con, fucking in a museum which is probably sacrilegious somewhere, a fantasy setting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Isabel is surprised they invited her and the rest of her construction crew to the opening ceremony. Perhaps this is a common courtesy in Sturia, she’s not very used to this place. But considering how these prim and proper nobles keep looking at her, she isn’t very sure of that either. She stands out here since everyone else is wearing fancy and shiny suits that sparkle under the light. Meanwhile she and her fellow builders just wear whatever they found in the dinky old closets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, well, she’s also just the only half-giant here. She towers over everyone, being at least three or four heads taller than the tallest humans here. And judging by the constant glances, it’s clear that the Sturians don’t see much non-humans. Or maybe they’re just judgemental assholes. Neither would really surprise her. Not like they can give her much trouble anyway, she can crush anyone here just with one arm. No one’s approached her all night, and she and her crew stay in their little corner of the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the constant looks that borders on annoying, the ceremony isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s a riot colour, Isabel eats up the scene of ostentatious decorations hanging from the walls, the teeny tiny appetizers on the table and the exhibits. The wine isn’t bad, either. Definitely better than the shit she usually gets in the taverns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of her coworkers comes next to her, a woman named Catalina with straight black hair that almost completely covers her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How ya enjoying being part of the exhibit?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel snorts, running a hand through her curls and when she’s about to open her mouth for a sarcastic reply she stops herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They really did invite her for the sole purpose of letting nobles gawk at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snorts again, this time it’s with a slight chuckle. “The least these fuckers could do is pay me a lil’ extra.” She shrugs, smirking down at Catalina, “Besides, not like I’d be able to visit a place like this normally. Gotta enjoy it while it lasts, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s only one thing Isabel really knows about Sturian museums: They’re expensive as hell. It’s really just a thing nobles go to to act insufferable in and do whatever it is they usually do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catalina gives a playful punch on the shoulder before taking a large swig of her wine. “Yeah right. As if someone like you goes to museums of all things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She puts her hand on her chest in mock offense, lips puckering and voice going up an octave in a sarcastic attempt to imitate some haughty noble. “I’ll have you know I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>cultured, unlike you…” She stops, mentally swimming through her head for some asinine insult. What was the last thing someone in the upper class called her? Ah, right. “You crooked-nosed knave.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catalina chortles under her breath, and Isabel’s lips curl into a grin as she continues speaking. “Besides, if I get to see that fella,” she nods towards the giant skeleton of an extinct predator with a name she can’t pronounce. It stands proudly on display in the middle of the room they’re in, posed like it’s poised to strike despite being a bunch of bones. “Then maybe having some rich folks gawk at me for the night ain’t so bad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As a construction worker, she was really only involved with building the, well, building of the museum. And if she’s allowed to brag, it’s mainly because of her that construction went smoothly and quickly, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>carry significantly more than the average human after all. She didn’t do anything with the displays, and it’s actually kinda nifty seeing everything here. She thinks the place is going to be named the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Royal Sturian Museum of Cultural and Natural History </span>
  </em>
  <span>and while she doesn’t really care about looking at ancient pottery and whatever else that counts as culture, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>dig seeing stuffed animals looking like they’re about to come alive and rip her face off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It kinda gives her a tingle down her spine. Some of the big cats on display remind her of the ones she used to wrestle with back home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And… there’s something else that isn’t too shabby about being here…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Cataline’s eyes weren’t half covered by her hair, maybe Isabel would have seen her squint at her and follow her gaze around the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking you’re going to have a conquest tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel gives her a side glance, still with a grin. “I’m feeling a little lucky.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Psh. You’re better off just sticking with the whores in the brothel.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Naw, no can do. Especially when I brought my lucky toy.” She makes a less than subtle pat on her crotch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Catalina, bless her heart, almost spits out her wine. She turns her head for a second before looking back up at her, lips twitching in a desperate attempt to hide her laughter. “Girl you fucking… you fucking dumbass. You think you can get with a noble? Tonight? And with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Do nobles even do that shit? And what woman is gonna let her property out of her sight long enough for you to fuck him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel quirks a single brow at her, going back to eye candy. God</span>
  <em>
    <span>damn, </span>
  </em>
  <span>noblemen were really good looking. Perks to having literally everything under the sun catered to you, she muses. She especially likes checking out the men who have darker skin like herself, and silky black hair with bright green eyes. What can she say? She has a type.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A very specific type.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One that happens to be looking directly at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, she doesn’t know what to think. No noble has been able to hold her gaze, they always turn away like she’s some type of secret despite her literally just standing there. This man, however, just keeps looking at her. His eyes are almost smoldering, speaking of a hidden desire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he turns with an upturned chin, and she can practically hear the </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘hmph,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>that probably comes out of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She replies to Catalina absentmindedly, unconsciously licking her lips. “There’s gotta be at least one single, free man around here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sturians don’t like their men getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>free.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never say never,” she shrugs, glancing back at Catalina with a wink. She goes back to looking at the crowd, and for a split second the man with green eyes is looking at her again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But this time he quickly turns around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...Interesting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>There’s a small flame that sparks in her belly. She has to resist the urge to just barrel towards him, and she clenches and unclenches her fists. Her people are always a </span><em><span>take what you want </span></em><span>kind of</span> <span>group of people but mother always taught her the virtues of being… patient with one’s prey.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smirks down at Catalina. “Think I’m gonna go check out those stuffed birds further out back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her coworker huffs, face contorting into exasperation, but she soon matches her grin with one of her own. “Alright, guess I’ll root for ya. Tell me if nobles are any different from your usual whore, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel casually waves her off, taking long, lazy strides to her destination. She can feel everyone’s and their mother’s gaze on her, but there’s one that’s… different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One that’s just begging for attention.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Many of the birds behind the display case are posed in suspended flight. They look so alive, and yet the glass eyes really gives their… deadness away. They’re actually kinda spooky looking, even with the buoyant hues and spindly little legs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She keeps looking at them, pacing up and down the large display. Does Sturia even have this many birds? Some of these she’s never seen, but maybe that’s because she hasn’t been here for a while. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>admittedly look… kinda tasty. Like she’d be tempted to just pluck one of these fuckers from the sky and chow down on them then and there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that would probably make her a permanent exhibit here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel keeps pacing. It’s definitely been a few minutes now. Fuck, maybe Sturian women really do keep tight tabs on their men. She didn’t even notice the guy with someone else―</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where do you hail from?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns towards the masculine voice, but sees nothing―</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>down </span>
  </em>
  <span>towards the masculine voice, seeing the shorter human with a tight expression and hands on his hips. It’s the same man she was hoping to see, and upon closer inspection she sees he’s got a good face and a strong build that is hugged by a black and gold suit. Perfect. And while she didn’t notice when he was in the midst of the crowd, she can see there’s no collar on his neck. So he’s unclaimed. Even better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smile etches its way to Isabel’s face. “Take a wild guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearly unhappy with the answer, the guy pinches his brows together. “Rucheales is the land of giants but Sturia’s borders are locked to any inhabitants from there, as it should be.” His voice is deep, with a serious tone. “But you’re a half-breed, so I can only assume the reason you’ve been allowed to traipse around here is because you’ve got some human lineage in you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squints at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Though it would appear the far greater human blood hasn’t had much effect on you considering your… stature.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She has to stop herself from getting too giddy. The men in the brothel are always so easy, obviously, but this one― the arrogance in his eyes, the haughty words. It’s perfect. It makes her want to… do many things with this man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she doesn’t miss how his eyes have been flicking to her biceps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then I guess human blood ain’t all that great, huh?” She says with mirth in her tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seems to pout from that, or maybe he’s trying to put on a more serious expression. Whatever face he might be trying to put on, he’ll always look a little ridiculous since she’s so much taller than him. It’s kinda cute, really. And maybe even a bit pathetic, but that’s exactly what she looks for in a man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns his face with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘hmph,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she’s just going to take a wild guess that he does that a lot. “Yes, well, I suppose it takes time to tame the lineage of churls such as yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cocks her head to the side, grinning. “Why are you even here, tough guy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Idle curiosity. Which I’ve satiated. Goodbye.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s something about the pause at the beginning in his response, and the over the top stiffness, that grabs her attention. It makes her grin grow wider, now showing teeth as she watches the man turn and begin walking away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows she can’t just let him walk away like that. She’d become a disgrace to giants if just let someone so </span>
  <em>
    <span>ripe </span>
  </em>
  <span>go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The name’s Isabel, by the way, so you know who’s name to scream when you fuck your hand tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In an instant, he whips his entire body to glare at her with a face that burns a bright red despite his darker skin. With eyes that speak of righteous fury, he points at her accusingly, his teeth almost clattering together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-Y-You!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pfft.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel can’t quite stop herself from letting out the bellow that builds in her stomach, and she laughs uproariously at the gawking man who continues to stare at with a gobsmacked expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was expecting a hell of a lot more than just that. The fire in his eyes, only for him to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeal? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Priceless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop―Stop laughing, you cur!” He hisses, to no avail, “K-Know your place!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a brief moment, Isabel is able to temper her laughter to a low chortle, and she takes a step forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he takes a step back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ahaha! He really is trying to get me going, isn’t he!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A strike of arousal goes straight into her lower stomach, and she tenses her abdominal muscles in anticipation. Oh, she just wants to pounce on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She takes a step forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a step back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They repeat the same motions for several moments, soon his back against the display case and suddenly it looks as though he’s suddenly surrounded by birds. Perhaps, in this moment, he wishes he were a bird so he can fly like the taxidermy behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he’s a bird, then she’s one of those big cats.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thinks she will go ahead and pounce.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel clicks her tongue, baring her fangs, which are sharper than a humans. Clearly, he sees it, and his pupils dilate and she flexes her hands in response. “Tell me your name.” She says sternly, and she sees his eyes twitch, jaw clenching, and he looks her up and down as if trying to decide if she’s worth knowing his name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damianus.” He says curtly, jutting his chin upwards, which she assumed is supposed to make him literally look down on people but it’s not really working here. How adorable. “Of House Borteus. You may have heard of―”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never heard of them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His makes a strangled noise, and before he’s able to formulate another response she takes another step forward and―</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Effectively cages him in with her arms on either side of his head. His mouth clamps shut with an audible </span>
  <em>
    <span>click, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and his face becomes redder. His eyes speak of restrained excitement, or maybe she’s just making that part up. Not like it matters. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>does, </span>
  </em>
  <span>however, watch her with bated breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leans in, but he still needs to crane his neck to look at her in the eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know shit about your House, so I guess I have no… ‘place’ with you, which means,” She blows a breath against his hair, and he flinches noticeably, “Which means I can probably do whatever I want with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would appear he can no longer look her in the eyes after that, and he averts his gaze. Though, he doesn’t just stare at the ground like a scolded toddler. Nah. He just pointedly stares at her biceps again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His tone is biting, but there’s something desperate in it. “Of course a hedge-born such as yourself would be an utter wretch. Do you usually lust after men that are beyond your reach?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen you eyefucking me all night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before the man― oh right, his name is Damianus― can let out another strangled peep, Isabel interrupts him, further caging him in with her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what giants like to do with handsome men like you? We like to steal them away. Tie them to the ceiling of ships and let the oarswomen have their way with their new toys.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can see the muscles in his neck tense. “...Ngh…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she’s going to pounce on </span>
  <em>
    <span>that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In an instant, she pulls away, only to forcibly turn him around while twisting his arm behind his back. She pins him against the glass, briefly wondering what’ll happen if she puts in enough force to break it. She can feel him shake through his clothes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel growls beside his reddened ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess, you’re a posh fucker but you’re bored of it. So you follow a random half-giant to a secluded part of the gallery where no one is at because you’re a bitch in heat who’s desperate for anything interesting.” One of her legs goes between his, forcing him on his toes. “Do noblewomen just not fuck you properly? Or maybe being a whore is a secret? Desperate to have some fun before you’re claimed, is that it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngh… uuu…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a small, pitiful whimper. Almost like a whisper between his teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it confirms her suspicions and her grin becomes feral. “You like that, don’t you?” She twists his arm more, causing him to grunt in pain. “You like being roughed up, huh? Prim and proper nobleman likes to get fucked by the… what is it that you said… churls?” It really does come off more as a question rather than her insulting him, since she genuinely doesn’t know what the fuck churls means.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, he doesn’t seem to take notice of her fucking up, rather he actually keeps the ball rolling much to her surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngh… Y-You…” He hisses out, his eyes finally going back to hers. His stare would be near lethal to anyone else, but there’s something else in them. They almost egg her on, speaking of a silent challenge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then do something interesting, you churl. I-I don’t want to get b-bored…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hook, line and sinker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a growl and a mind feeling like it’s about to burst, she turns him around again and picks him up like a sack of potatoes over her shoulder. Damianus practically squeals, kicking his legs in surprise, but any resistance is swiftly abated with one bat on his ass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha-Wha-What are you doing?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel huffs, briefly bouncing him effortlessly on her shoulder. He’s lighter than she expected, but whatever. She’s too drunk on the lust that threatens to drown her, overwhelmed by the burning need to strike down on her next conquest. Ah, what a fucking glorious way to end a long ass building project that took her goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If she had known she would have been gifted such a prize by the end of it, maybe she would have worked faster.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m doing something interesting. We’re heading somewhere just a little more secluded.” Is all she says.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The entirety of the museum isn’t open to the public yet. Really, they just have the main hall with the giant skeleton open― though it isn’t enough to call it a hall, of course. Rather it’s named the ‘Great Hall,’ because why not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel had snuck off to a separate area in the museum with Damianus in tow. Well, she didn’t really need to sneak around in the first place, which works for her considering she doesn’t think she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>built </span>
  </em>
  <span>for stealth. All she had to do was open a door and stroll inside. No guards, they’re all stationed in the Great Hall, and she’d hazard a guess that most people are beginning to leave now. The only thing stopping her were signs. Will the security be this lax for when it’s operating normally? Are all museums like this?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...Maybe she should exploit that fact for later if she needs extra money.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stops in another display room, this one probably about the ‘culture’ part of the museum’s name. It’s got wax people standing around, wearing feathers, grass skirts and other clothing that looks like it would be a pain in the ass to wear nowadays. With a single motion and small huff, she unceremoniously drops Damianus on the carpeted floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scrunches his face, looking up at her with a small scowl. She tilts her head and narrows her eyes, warmth filling her lower stomach the more she thinks about what she’ll do to him. To have gotten a man like this basically dropped on her lap? Perhaps there’s a god after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a condescending smirk, she asks, “Did you come here just to get fucked? What do you usually do when you’re trying to get someone in your bed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes a small noise of malcontent, but he manages a smirk of his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to do much, my name is enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A real big shot, eh?” Well, his mother and possible sisters would be, but that’s neither here nor there. The thought of him coming here, then practically creaming his pants at the sight of her and becoming immediately desperate for her to fuck him makes her chuckle lowly. “You’re lucky I felt like having a conquest tonight. I brought some extra tools for my trade.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearly he’s expecting to use his mouth on her, because he doesn’t stand from where he landed when she dropped him. He shifts to a kneeling position. How considerate. But when she’s making a show of reaching for her pants buckle, she stops, appraising him with a single raised brow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How old are you, anyway?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eye twitches, ooooh, so he’s impatient, too. “I’m obviously an adult if I was allowed to be at this opening ceremony, fool.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t answer my question, ass.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damianus does the most dramatic eye roll Isabel has ever seen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Twenty-two. Now get on with it―”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t even need to think about what she does next, it’s just a natural reaction. In an instant, she leans forward aggressively to grab a fist full of his hair. It’s kinda cute when he tries backing away, and the hitch of his breath when she snaps his neck backwards is </span>
  <em>
    <span>divine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It sends a wave of pleasure down her spine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belatedly, she realizes he smells like cherries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Know your place,” she jeers mockingly, “In here, you’re worth less than the floor beneath you. Don’t get smart and make demands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel happily leers at the sight of him, he shifts awkwardly in an attempt to make his position more comfortable with her hand still in his hair. His jaw is clenched, teeth gritting, but there’s something slightly odd about his expression―flushed cheeks, heavy breathing… which isn’t all that unusual, but a sneer forms on his face. One with a smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This floor is made of imported natural fibres from Senchae. I can guarantee you it’s worth more than your entire salary.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This little fucker!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Narrowing her eyes, she feels something red hot continue to form in her lower belly, her cunt beginning to throb. Oh, she definitely enjoyed that―because it gives her the perfect excuse to enact some righteous punishment because this little smartass deserves it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks forward to seeing his face twist in delicious agony.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her other hand goes to his buttoned shirt, and with a single tug she’s able to rip it off of him. Ah, he’s got a nice set of abs on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes an indignant huff, “T-T-That shirt is also worth more than―”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shoves her thumb into his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Immediately, his voice is pacified, and she feels his tongue stay still against her digit. She raises a brow, staring into his eyes with a silent command. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damianus then slowly begins moving his tongue over her. She watches him, and he doesn’t avert his gaze either. For a moment, his body writhes, but he stops that soon enough. His brows are pinched together, eyes squinted in a glare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s some actual disgust in his eyes. He really does think of her as lesser. Maybe he’s even disgusted by all this, but secretly enjoys it. He rejects his treatment, yet wanting more and more. Maybe this is an inner conflict he’s experiencing, his body and mind rebelling against one another, the want for pleasure fighting against reason. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever. That’s his problem, not hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking down to his firm chest, she sees beads of sweat form on his tanned skin. His face flushes even deeper, and soon Damianus makes a lurid noise when he sucks on her thumb. Feeling sweat beginning to form on her own skin, her pants suddenly begin to feel just a tad too stifling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lets him go, and he shakily composes himself after almost falling onto his back. Isabel begins unbuckling her pants for real this time, his eyes filled with hunger with a hint of anger. In one smooth motion, she removes her baggy clothes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles at his scandalous gasp. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do… Do you usually go around in public wearing that thing?” He asks, sounding breathless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Naw, but sometimes a gal just wants to try something different every now and then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought I was going to get fucked by a woman tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel throws her head back with a laugh, “Oh, believe me, you’re absolutely getting fucked by a woman. In fact, I’ll fuck you better than anyone you’ve been with, even if they had a real cock or not.” She reaches down to grab his hair again, “Words are unnecessary now. Put that smart mouth to good work, and maybe I’ll reward you by sticking this up your ass.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rubs the toy against his cheek. It’s like that of a well endowed human, and the end of the toy grinds against her clit, which begins to grow wet. Damianus grunts when she continues to rubs it against his lips, there’s resistance as he refuses to open up. There’s that disgusted look in his eyes again, and as much as she likes seeing that she’d rather have this time to give him a throat fucking. The hand on the toy goes to his mouth, prying it open with little to no effort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feebly begins to hit at her thighs in protest. Whether or not he’s serious about it, she isn’t sure. But when she sees his half-lidded eyes and hears a groan, whatever doubts she had disappears like a wisp of smoke. Must be one of those inner rebellions again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hnngh, mph!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tip of the toy enters his mouth, and without waiting for a gag reflex, she snaps her hips to make it go to the back of his throat. Whatever resistance he had now becomes an embrace as his soft, plump lips pushes against and pulls back from the toy over and over.. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wet sucking noises echo in the gallery space. Isabel brings her hips back, almost having the dildo leave his lips, only to roughly shove it back inside. She does it over, and over, and over again, increasing and decreasing in tempo and speed from time to time. From how fast and hard she moves her hips, it wouldn’t have been surprising for him to vomit. Yet instead of retching and gagging, he takes it like a champ.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a natural,” she says with a hoarse voice, “How many times have you done this before? After all that talk about how high and mighty your family is, and yet you service me like this!”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forming a tight seal around the toy with his lips, Damianus breathes deeply through his nose as his tongue slithers along its length. With each thrust the dildo grinds against her throbbing cunt, but it’s not enough. Not for her. While holding onto his head as she continues to face fuck him, she grunts out an order.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your hands. Finger my cunt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still manages an annoyed glare even with the toy going in and out of his mouth. How cute. His hands fumble around, probably because of how fast her hips are moving, so she slows her pace enough for him to stick two fingers inside of her. It makes her cunt feel even warmer, and he begins pumping his digits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face tells her he doesn’t really want to service her, and yet his body does it anyway. It’s like he’s making himself reflectively act this way. Naturally, he can’t do anything except what he’s doing as she continues her ferocious pistoning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fucking whore. You’re less than a vagrant. Have you ever thought of joining a brothel? Hah!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her vaginal walls clenches around his fingers, and he moans around the toy as it keeps fucking his defenseless throat. No doubt his mouth is beginning to hurt from distending. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A mocking laugh erupts from Isabel. “Look at you, you’re part of the museum! An interactive exhibit! How many people would fuck you, huh? Maybe I should put you in a glass cage and leave you here? Maybe they should rename this place to the Museum of Sturian Whores! Hahaha!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His momentary defiant expression from before is quickly replaced by dreamy eyes wet with tears and cheeks bright red as heated breaths escape his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s no more disgust in his eyes. Rather, everything being done to him is now a treat to be savoured. His fingers become more frantic in her cunt, going knuckle deep. His moans become part of a symphony, accompanied by the wet slapping noises of the dildo and his fingers doing their work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, what fun! To violate the mouth of some noble! Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is what dreams are made of. Isabel swims in the pleasure enveloping her, feeling her body heat further and limbs begin to tremble ever so slightly. To humiliate and ravage such a man― really was the greatest and most depraved pleasure to be had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damianus’ shameful, obscene, covetous, and debauched servicing of Isabel’s toy and cunt makes her howl for more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmfffgh!” Saliva splatters around the shaft of the toy, dripping from his mouth. From the way he shakes and moves his body back and forth to meet her hips, she can tell he’s wounding himself taut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hot, wet juices of her cunt begin to drip in waves, too. Her body practically begs her to continue indulging in carnal lusts. Fireworks explode behind her eyes from the building pressure climbing and surging through her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing beats being such a fucking aberrant! To savour such immoral things and fucking in museum of all places?! It’s enough to begin bringing her over the edge. Her muscles feel tight, and she clenches down on his pumping fingers again. Her body shivers, and she chases after her orgasm but― not yet, she decides. She steps away from the sudden wave of euphoria, shoving Damianus away from her. She can see a trail of spit follow him for a moment, and he lands on his back with a grunt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face is covered in drool, and his fingers slicked with her juices. “The― The hell are you doing―?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All that should have been humiliating, and while he definitely has a hint of annoyance in his eyes, his stunned expression makes it seem as though he’s basking in the afterglow of an orgasm. Flicking her eyes down, she sees a wet spot on his tented pants. Isabel smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After all that fuss at first, and then you ended up enjoying it? Of course you did. You’re a man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without waiting for his response, she leans down to snake her hands under his armpits, picking him up in one swoop and crashing her lips onto his. There’s a small surge of resistance, and she finds she </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>enjoys it when he does that, and she has to force her tongue between his lips. He lets out a lewd, shameful squeak as she does so, his nails beginning to dig into her shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can feel his body shake as their tongues intertwine. She’s aggressive with her kiss, obviously, completely dominating him with only her mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damianus relaxes his body, seemingly becoming a doll that exists solely to pleasure her through kisses. With a final kiss that borders on straight up suffocation, Isabel drops him on the ground again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then promptly rips the pants off of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“W-Would you stop ruining my c-clothes?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She responds with a lazy shrug. Despite his little yell, he’s got a somewhat dazed expression; and a sultry gaze with dyed cheeks. She kneels down to force his legs apart, and Damianus gasps sharply as she hungrily looks at his cock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’ll admit, he’s got a good dick on him. Veiny and red, bouncing with each uneven breath he takes and leaking with snow white precum. Really, a part of her wants to flick her finger at it just to see his reaction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she’s not here for his cock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reaching over to her side and rummaging through her pants pocket for a quick minute, she takes out a small pouch and pours a transparent, viscous liquid onto her fingers. Her eyes flick back to his face when she hears a snort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel lifts a brow at him. “What? I don’t want to straight up kill you, dumbass.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives her an eyeroll, and she has half a mind to ask him if he’s ever had it up the ass before. But truly, she doesn’t care, not when his lips curl into a smile that is practically a smile. He moves his legs further apart, his hands going to his asscheeks to spread them apart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damianus’ voice is husky. “I don’t particularly think lowlives like you deserve such a… such a hole, but I-I think I’m in a good mood today. You should be thankful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eye twitches. Now he decides to be completely willing </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>a smartass? Psh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She brings her hand near his defenseless cock, making a circle with her pointer finger and thumb, leaning in for a flick…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closes his legs together with a small whimper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I didn’t think so either,” she growls out, forcefully opening his legs and aiming her fingers for his asshole. She presses against the ring of muscle while watching his shoulders tense as he clearly mentally prepares himself for the oncoming intrusion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tip of her finger enters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah...haah…” Damianus breathes out before gritting his teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe this is his first time for anal. Huh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slowly pumps her finger in and out of him, gradually loosening him up as his chest rises and falls at slow intervals. As her finger carves its shape into his tight asshole, his body reciprocates the attention by happily constricting around it as if coveting the presence inside of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She goes back and forth several more times, eventually easing a second finger that makes him arch his back dramatically. Well, her fingers </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to be larger than the average humans. Still, he’s just being dramatic. Maybe. Whatever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the back of her mind, she thinks about the artifacts in this room. Small statuettes and other little trinkets from a couple hundred years ago. How devious would she have to be to put something like that inside of him? To think of someone just coming in the next morning and seeing the mess they’ve made, or hell seeing a man with ancient artifacts stuffed inside of him… Hah! That’s something she’ll have to indulge in her dreams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Continuing her ministrations, it doesn’t take long for the tension in his body to release, and her fingers slip in and out with relative ease. She stretches out her fingers, and Damianus lets out a cry that she would privately consider </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the lowest of the low,” she says snidely, “You must be a local whore that House of yours hires often, so you think you’re a part of them. Delusional slut.” Then, she stops moving her fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Say it. Admit you’re the lowlife here. Then I’ll finally give you what you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face immediately tightens, and for a split second she sees that resistance flare up again but it’s immediately overtaken with another dazed expression. Half-lidded eyes seem to beckon her, and his haggard breath comes out his trembling lips in uneven waves. His cock twitches, and Isabel knows whatever rebellion he has in his head has finally been quelled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing left except for a pure, unabashed desire for complete submission.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bucks his hips with a pitiful whine. “Ngh… I-I’m the lowlife here…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Really, she could applaud him for the admission, but she instead opts to give his throbbing asshole one more pump of his fingers before exiting him completely. He tries following her with another buck of his hips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel leans down, grabbing the back of his thighs. Clearly, he gets the memo and wraps his arms around her neck, his fingers digging into her shoulders again. When she lifts him off the ground and stands, she thinks he might actually make her bleed with his nails as he seemingly clings for dear life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Ah!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughs at his little yelp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she lines up his asshole with her toy, while grazing her teeth over his pristine but sweaty skin. In a truly shameful display, he bites his lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me again what you are,” she commands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It makes his erection bob against her stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a dry gasp and a mouth that’s beginning to drool, he answers, “I-I-I’m a lowlife!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smirks. The final shreds of his dignity has been completely and utterly obliterated. She might even pat herself on the back for such a job well done. “Such a good whore. Time for your prize.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shivers when the tip of the toy presses against his loose asshole.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, the long, thick dildo invades his tanned body. He sways in the air as she makes the toy enter him fully, and slowly begins thrusting. As she continues bouncing him up and down the dildo, his voice becomes more raspy and obscene.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nghh…” he moans out, his voice seeming to bounce around the glass displays, “I-It… hurts...h-haaah.... So good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just the way she likes it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spurred on by his whimpers and moans, she mercilessly thrusts the toy into him, causing him to further wail from the unimaginable pressure. It was intense, like a vise binding his entire body. His eyes blow wide, throwing his head back with a squeal as his tongue hangs slovenly out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The toy grinds against her cunt again, and at this point, her clit begins to feel numb and she needs to make a concentrated effort to not have her legs shake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her thrusts are erratic and unpredictable, but also skillful. Isabel’s cunt constricts around nothing, the pleasure crashing over her as Damianus continues shrieking is both overwhelming and divine. With a grunt, she bites down on his shoulder, hard enough to make thin rivulets of blood stream down his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m―!! Mmmph, I’m a l-lowlife!” He screeches, voice twinged in pain, and she smiles against him and tightens her grip on his thighs, indenting his flesh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Him bouncing on the toy seems to be never ending. She knows he must be tightening again and again against the toy. She drills into him relentlessly, becoming more rapid and harsh with her thrusting. One of Damianus’ hands leaves her shoulder, slithering between their sweat slicked bodies to furiously jerk himself off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No doubt the intense pressure around his rectum is beginning to drive him over the edge. The mere thought of his flesh greedily wiggling around the toy, conforming to its shape, makes her entire body feel so impossibly taut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel shuts her eyes tightly, continuing to be violent with her thrusting as if attempting to completely pulverise him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Issss…” Damianus hisses, face contorting in a myriad expressions all drowning in ecstasy. His voice no longer has pain in it, rather there’s nothing but maddening pleasure. “I-Isss…. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Isabel!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He howls, and she can feel his hand on his cock becoming more and more frantic and she soon enough she feels a warm wetness splurt against her skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the same time, her cunt constricts, and she feels her own orgasm crash down on her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the while, she breaks into a boisterous laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hahaha! You really did scream out my name! Fucking great!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gives him a few more thrusts for good measure, every time he flinches and writhes from the extra stimulation. He must be so sensitive, poor little thing, it just makes her want to give him another round of ass fucking. Even with his drool, tears and hazy expression she sees―</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...A sudden bout of surprise? Fear?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O-Oh, fuck, who―?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sudden burst of energy and speed, Damianus flails his hands around, making Isabel lose her concentration. He actively pushes against her shoulders and as he becomes frantic like a troll with a migraine she drops him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feebly using his hands to cover himself, he cranes his neck to look behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t what you think―” He stops yelling all of a sudden, mouth clamping shut. Eyes still wide, he blinks owlishly before flopping back onto the floor. Whatever adrenaline he had quickly subsides, and his body becomes limp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel scrunches her brows together and looks behind her, and Damianus says something else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… thought that was a real person…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a wax statue of a person. Absentmindedly Isabel notes there’s an awful lot of them and they’re looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>judgemental despite the fact they’re made of, well, wax. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now she feels like she just fucked in front of an audience.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns her head back to Damianus when she hears him pant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Haah… haah… Hah. Haah… Uuung…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even twitch, mind and body completely overwhelmed. His glassy eyes follow her when she leans down to rummage through another pocket of her pants. Soon, she finds what she’s looking for. She ignores the burn and spasms in her legs muscles as she feels the aftershocks of her orgasm when she opens it and―</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Drops a few coins on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Payment for the show you just gave me,” she breathes out, “The Museum of Sturian Whores was well worth the admission price, heh.”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damianus responds to that with a low groan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without waiting for him to recover from his own orgasm, she picks up her clothes, her walk still slightly unsteady. The opening ceremony is probably long over, and she doubts there’s anyone around anymore. Still, she decides to head for the nearest bathroom to change, not looking back at the man she just fucked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Him and his ripped clothes is his problem.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Several weeks later, Isabel is lining up brickwork for the next building she’s constructing. The sun beats down on her dark skin, and she wipes the sweat from her brow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catalina complains next to her. “Who do these nobles think they are, building a fucking coliseum in the middle of nowhere?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that far from town. You just like bitching about everything.” She retorts, reaching down to drink her cool drink. Catalina snorts, continuing her own work while Isabel does the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She does that for the next hour or so, having no need to take breaks like her human coworkers. She stretches her arms over her head, hearing satisfying popping noises from her bones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s an annoying glint in her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At first she thinks it’s the setting sun reflecting off some glass somewhere, but it’s too fucking persistant with how it tries to goddamn blind her. With an annoyed huff she shields herself with her hand, trying to see where it’s coming from.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, as it turns out, it is the sun reflecting off glass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s just that it’s someone holding a shard and clearly trying to get her attention.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Squinting, she sees tanned skin, a fancy suit… green eyes…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She almost barks out a laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Motherfucker! Where’d he come from? How’d he find me? Hah!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel hasn’t seen Damianus since she left him after paying for his truly illustrious ‘services.’ Did he get someone to track her down or something? Maybe he just got lucky? Maybe she left a trail of bricks for him to follow without realizing it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two of them stare at each other, gazes burning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A silent agreement passes over them and Damianus skulks back behind a lining of trees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isabel’s lips twitch upwards and she looks down on Catalina who’s apparently too focused on her work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oi,” she says, “I’m gonna go take a break.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catalina flippantly waves her off. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t take too long.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she begins walking over to the trees, Isabel ganders that she and Damianus will be seeing each other an awful lot in the future.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wracked my head in trying to think of a clever title for this. Some type of museum pun or just... something funny... I got nothing, rip. :^(</p><p>Fun fact: Damianus is Latin for "to tame, to subdue." Perfect, no? 😈</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Neon Lights and Black Lace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nia likes looking at her neighbour. Perhaps she likes looking at him too much, but when their eyes finally meet she thinks it could possibly lead... to something more.</p><p>Includes: Men in lingerie (as requested by rubyeoc), strippers and prostitutes, nipple clamps, a smidgen of cunnilingus, vaginal sex, reverse mating press (also known as the amazonian press), a somewhat bleak atmosphere because this is set in a cyberpunk dystopia lmao, a sad(?) ending.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>She’s looking at him again. </p><p> </p><p>Nia can’t help it. If anything, staring at him is probably a morning ritual nowadays. Every time at eight in the morning she goes out to get her morning coffee from a small corner store she always visits. He’ll be going to the gym at the same time, as he does every day. On Saturdays, he leaves mid-afternoon to go grocery shopping. She watches him when he does that, too.</p><p> </p><p>On evenings, from Monday to Saturday, he leaves at around five in the afternoon to go to work. </p><p> </p><p>But that’s another matter.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not <em> weird </em>that she keeps her eyes on him. At least, she tries to convince herself it isn’t. They’re neighbours in the same apartment complex. It’s natural they would constantly pass each other. </p><p> </p><p>It’s just that they never speak. Or interact. He doesn’t even seem to acknowledge her existence. <em> And </em>she doesn’t know his name. </p><p> </p><p>Okay, maybe it’s a little weird.</p><p> </p><p>But she can’t help it! </p><p> </p><p>He’s just so— so fucking good looking! Sharp jaw, chin, and cheekbones… Hazel eyes that match the tousled dark brown hair… Alabaster skin… The twining cords of muscle in his neck, going to his back… </p><p> </p><p>He’s just nice to look at. So she looks at him often, is all. He’s certainly better than literally everything else around.</p><p> </p><p>From the coffee shop she watches him at the bus stop. Graffiti practically covers every inch of the tear-washed concrete behind him. The houses were once gaily painted, but now peel, crackle and flake. Carelessly discarded litter roll when a gust of wind passes by, and Nia spots a group of homeless beggars accosting anyone who passes them by, and there’s not much people to approach in the first place. When they hobble over to the man he staunchly ignores them— practically an expert in the art of being impassive.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a new group of beggars, Nia later notices. There’s always a new batch every week. Some of them are missing body parts, no doubt they sold bits and pieces of their augments for any extra cash.</p><p> </p><p>A small bell ring signifies another customer. Nia side-glances at the woman who enters, watching her like the robot server. With pre-programmed perfection the robot welcomes her in flawless and smooth speech with just the right inflections to put her at ease, but as a programmer, Nia knows the machine took a brain scan and a full set of vitals before she'd even entered the shop.</p><p> </p><p>Even though this is just a measly cafe, you have to show your identification. Nia imagines what happens next. When the robot asks the woman for her name, a voice scan will be compared to the account holder before she finishes speaking. If there’s no match, the robot will continue small talk, gleaning further information from her body language. If there’s something amiss, the machine will take epithelials from the rim of the woman’s cup once she’s finished drinking. In seconds her DNA will match her with her true identity and the authorities will arrest her for stealing someone’s else’s ID before she’s even out the door.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, that’s just a guess. Nia’s programmed enough of these things to know how they work, and she supposes she’s a bit of a cynic to imagine a scenario where this woman is a thief. </p><p> </p><p>She downs the rest of her coffee in one gulp. Wiping her face, she looks back at the bus stop. He’s gone, and she frowns that she just missed him boarding the bus. Huffing, she gets off her seat and exits the coffee shop.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a police car parked outside now, and the second she leaves an officer enters.</p><p> </p><p>The woman won’t be in jail long, Nia muses, she’ll probably be part of the new set of beggars out on the street next week.</p><p> </p><p>But for someone to be bold enough to waltz in a store with a stolen ID <em> and </em>a robot on duty? Impressive. And also incredibly stupid, but this thief must be someone without a chip implanted in her. Almost everyone has one of those, chips were something that started out innocently enough— It was posited as something to keep you and your family safe. If you’re kidnapped, you luckily have a built in GPS system inside of you. That sort of thing. </p><p> </p><p>Now you had to report a strict schedule. If you so much as take a wander down a side road when you’re supposed to be somewhere else, the police are notified immediately. Every false alarm meant a hefty fine and all deviations in routine must be programmed seven days in advance.</p><p> </p><p>Nia sighs through her nose. It’s almost nine now. Her schedule dictates that she needs to get back to her apartment since she works from home. She wouldn’t haven’t gotten this fucking thing willingly, but law dictates she can’t be a programmer without one. As if the shit pay wasn’t enough.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls her hoodie over her short black hair, and kicks at a rock as she crosses the street. The handsome man isn’t the only person she doesn’t know. This is a town of strangers— she can’t be bothered to program her schedule every time she tries to speak or hang out with someone. Besides… she’s very particular about her… leisurely activities. There’s only one thing she changes in her schedule now and then. </p><p> </p><p>Before she enters her decrepit old apartment, she eyes the man’s door. If she were a more poetic woman, she would call him a light at the end of the tunnel. Something to look forward to in the morning and the end of the day, even if she just appreciates his face.</p><p> </p><p>Man, the bar really is that low, huh?</p><p> </p><p>Sighing through her nose again, she enters her home.</p><p> </p><p>They’re not friends. They’re not even acquaintances. They don’t talk to each other. They’re just neighbours.</p><p> </p><p>But they become something different during some nights.</p><p> </p><p>Because at night is when this city truly becomes alive.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After double, triple and quadruple checking that she’s properly programmed this anomaly into her schedule exactly a week ago, Nia sets out into the city. </p><p> </p><p>There are no stars in the sky. No, the constellations here are the neon signs that overpower literally everything else on the otherwise bleak avenue. Even with the hustle and bustle of party goers and the muffled music from clubs it isn’t enough to completely drown out the thrumming sound of the lights and wires.</p><p> </p><p>Nia weaves her way around the crowd, her pace never faltering. She’s a woman on a mission.</p><p> </p><p>The further in she goes, the more risque the signs become. Many of them depict men in suggestive positions and clothing because… well… She’s in a <em> very </em>specific district now. Intermingled with the crowds are men in costumes that can barely be considered clothes, they all beckon any passersby to enter the clubs they represent and work for. </p><p> </p><p>One in leather straps gives her a coy smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey there, why don’t you let me show yo—”</p><p> </p><p>“I have a schedule to keep.”</p><p> </p><p>That’s usually enough to get them off her back. Admittedly, she does want to try some of these clubs, but at the same time none of these men are as handsome as the one she’s currently gunning for.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, she’s at the biggest building—  the big boss of all clubs, despite the fact it’s called something as simple as <em> ‘Ladies Night.’ </em>She chucks her ID at the robot bouncer and eagerly gets inside.</p><p> </p><p>Everything is bathed in a low red light inside. The thrum of the lights, people moving around, dancing, chattering… it’s all joined by another sound now. </p><p> </p><p>Groaning. Moaning. Whimpering. A combination of all three…</p><p> </p><p>Nia isn’t sure she’ll ever get used to it. This place has goddamn rooms but apparently some people can’t be assed to use them. It probably doesn’t help that there’s practically torture devices hanging on the walls, and the men— whores and strippers— reverently look at their clients like they’re slave masters.</p><p> </p><p>Well, the men here <em> are </em> technically slaves. There’s really not much to distinguish from the two, Nia thinks.</p><p> </p><p>You gotta do what you gotta do to get by nowadays.</p><p> </p><p>Nia keeps walking, moving past the women getting their cunts licked and those riding men into the floor. Further inside it’s a little… calmer, if that’s possible. It’s quieter. People aren’t fucking everywhere in this room. Women are seated in couches with some truly absurd looking drinks. </p><p> </p><p>She takes her own reserved seat. The show’s already started, but that’s okay, especially when she’s got a front row seat.</p><p> </p><p>The man, her damn neighbour and— dare she say it— the object of her quickly growing affection moves around a pole. His movements are graceful and poised, a testament of the amount of times he’s danced here. After several twirls he decides to slowly hump the pole, licking it slovenly for that extra <em> umph. </em></p><p> </p><p>There’s hollering and whistling in the crowd. Nia stays silent. </p><p> </p><p>There’s just one problem.</p><p> </p><p>He’s still got his clothes on.</p><p> </p><p>But that’s soon rectified. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t care— she’s fucking <em> hungry </em> for the main event. Really she’s come to this club enough times it might as well be a permanent part of her damn schedule. Alright, sure, maybe she’d admit her life is kinda shit. But <em> this? </em>Her little slice of heaven.</p><p> </p><p>Nia can have this. She can have her evening of gratuitously and unashamedly ogling a pretty man.</p><p> </p><p>With a quirk of his lips the crowd becomes more restless, and he teasingly lifts his shirt up to reveal his pristine abs. After someone throws a bundle of money at him, he takes the offending piece of clothing off. He’s lean, muscular, but Nia knows this. She’s seen him without his clothes plenty of times before, but every time it manages to take her breath away. </p><p> </p><p>Evidently, he uses the pool at the gym. He’s got a swimmer’s body. There’s not a single blemish on his body. The crowd begins hollering, whistling, throwing demeaning obscenities; but Nia stays silent. She merely eats him up with her eyes as he continues going around the pole, his swaying hips might as well have a hypnotic effect to them, considering the more money being thrown at him.</p><p> </p><p>Something surges through Nia, something hot and powerful. A pressure builds up inside of her, and she rubs her crotch through her jean shorts. Despite the fact this is a club where people fuck anywhere and anytime, she’s still mindful of her more debauched actions. She’s sitting alone, and she’s obstructed by the table in front of her. See? She’s still modest.</p><p> </p><p>The man on the pole, however, isn’t. He turns around, thumb hooking onto the edge of his pants and he slowly pulls it down an inch, revealing the top of the black lacy underwear he’s wearing underneath the utterly <em> boring </em>pants. Nia bites her lip, almost hard enough to make it bleed, and more tingly anticipation crawls up her spine.</p><p> </p><p>He turns back around, and for a split second their eyes meet, and he drops his pants. The eye contact hits her more than the lingerie and she can feel her heart skip a beat. <em> Several </em>beats, actually. When she remembers to breathe properly, she watches him coyly turn around again to show off his bare ass to the appreciating crowd. He’s not quite wearing a thong, but the lace still disappears into his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, right, there’s a reason she specifically chose tonight to come. This club has themed evenings, and tonight happens to be lingerie night. Every man here wears lace showing off their toned and fit asses. There’s the occasional garterbelt, too, but that’s it. No heels, no corsets, no bras, or anything like that— just heavenly underwear and thongs that juxtaposed so deliciously with their muscle.</p><p> </p><p>The man on stage saunters back, he does some circuits before picking up his momentum before flipping himself upside down and wrapping his thighs around the pole. Even while flaccid she can see his cock strain against the fabric of his lingerie. Like with every other man here, the underwear has a shaped and contoured pouch for the crotch— obviously this is lace specifically made to fit a male body. </p><p> </p><p>Which isn’t all that surprising, as lingerie is a man’s undergarment nowadays. Nia can’t remember the last time she saw lace that was aimed for a female audience. Not that she really cares, she <em> did </em>pay to specifically see men in racy underwear tonight after all.</p><p> </p><p>She rubs herself more through her shorts and sinks lower into her cushioned seat. There’s a red hot fire building inside her, the embers only growing stronger and more fierce every time she sees <em> her </em>man’s ass jiggle.</p><p> </p><p>The slow beat of the music and his momentum is a feast for all of her senses. As the music picks up the tempo he begins moving faster; doing splits, arching his back, shaking his ass, holding his entire weight up with only one limb, and at some point he crawls around the stage to lather himself with the dollar bills being littered around him. </p><p> </p><p>He’s clearly feeding off the energy of the frantic crowd, but he doesn’t even look at anyone. Doesn’t spare her a glance, either. And yet, it feels like they’re the only ones in the room. There’s other men performing and somehow he’s the only one that matters. She didn’t even notice she had put her hands down her shorts now. </p><p> </p><p>Fuck, she’s already near the edge.</p><p> </p><p>At the end of the song he writhes and undulates against the pole, then flips himself upside down again to spread his legs in one last split. His tight and form fitting lingerie keeps his cock inside unfortunately, but she can’t help but wonder what would happen if he had an erection. He does a cheeky bow when he dismounts, blowing kisses to the adoring crowd with a seductive smirk and merely saunters away as new performers take his place.</p><p> </p><p>But before that, their eyes meet for another split second and Nia gasps sharply.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t <em> quite </em>orgasm then and there, but a distinct wave of euphoria washes over her and it takes her a while to get off the high. Adrenaline pumps throughout her body, all the way down to each finger and toe. Throat suddenly dry and muscles slowly and haltingly relaxing, Nia eyes some of the new performers.</p><p> </p><p>They do nothing for her.</p><p> </p><p>But that’s okay, she knows precisely when her man will come back to the stage. She knows every minute and second of his schedule here.</p><p> </p><p>Nia sighs through her nose.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never spoken to him… and yet here I am…” She says quietly, unheard by everyone else in the bustling club. She throws her head back with a huff and a self-deprecating smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Goddammit. I need to get laid. Or a lap dance.” </p><p> </p><p>She says that, but she’s intimately aware that ever since— Okay, maybe she’ll begrudgingly accept she might be a little obsessed with her neighbour— ever since she became <em> very </em>interested in the man living next door she hasn’t taken a man to her bed. Her one constant companion for particularly lonely nights has been her hand.</p><p> </p><p>And she knows the only man she wants to join her under the covers… seems so apparently out of reach, despite being literally <em> right there. </em>She’d thought about striking up a conversation, but she’s afraid of his actual personality conflicting with the made up persona she’s given to him in her head. </p><p> </p><p>He’s an enigmatic person in her head. Mysterious and seductive. She doesn’t know how she’d control her disappointed if he wasn’t exactly that.</p><p> </p><p>She heaves another sigh. “Guess you really are a stalker, Nia.” She says with mirth, running a hand through her hair. Her fingers lightly graze against the many piercings she has in her ear.</p><p> </p><p>Nia stays there, idly going through her phone as she waits for the man to come back to the stage. When he does, he’s wearing red lingerie with a garterbelt this time, and his performance is just as delicious as the last.</p><p> </p><p>And there’s more eye contact.</p><p> </p><p>She wants to believe that it means something.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Finished walking up the steps towards her apartment door, Nia stretches languidly and hears some pops when she cranes her neck around. She had spent a pretty penny tonight, but it was all worth it. A man in lingerie was always worth it.</p><p> </p><p>Now she’ll have to save up for her next visit to the club. Since she doesn’t go out much in the first place it shouldn’t take <em> too </em>long. Perks of having a very sedentary lifestyle, she muses, saving up money is a fairly simple affair.</p><p> </p><p>She’s about to lean down for her eye-scan when she hears a set of steady footsteps climb up the stairs. Nia knows exactly who it is. They always come back home at the same time. She mostly does it on purpose so she can have one last glimpse of him before he gets into his apartment.</p><p> </p><p>Things will go back to normal like they always go. She reminds herself of several facts—</p><p> </p><p>They’re not friends. They’re not even acquaintances. They don’t talk to each other. They’re just neighbours.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll look at him and he won’t look back. That’s a fact that’s as rigid as her schedule—</p><p> </p><p>“Enjoyed the show?”</p><p> </p><p>Nia blinks. Then she blinks again. That voice is… a lot more husky than she imagined.</p><p> </p><p>She’s almost scared to turn to her side. It’s like there’s a frog crawling up her throat, and there’s another set of tingly feelings assaulting her entire body. Is she dreaming? Did she pass out in the club? Holy fuck, this is happening, isn’t it?</p><p> </p><p>Tersely, she flicks her eyes and—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ohmygodhe’slookingdirectlyatme! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Not just that, but he <em> keeps </em>looking at her. He’s got a bag slung over his shoulder, wearing jeans and a plain red shirt. He’s got a lopsided smirk on his face and a small and almost pitiful noise of anxiety leaps out of Nia’s mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-Yeah…” She says lamely, mind going on overdrive that <em> he’s </em> speaking with <em> her. </em>Her heart does somersaults with each second. She had constructed scenarios like this in her head countless times before, but this simple greeting already blows everything in her imagination out of the water.</p><p> </p><p>“You stand out, you know,” he comments with a glint of… something in his eyes, “All by yourself in the front, with your own empty table and couch. I always notice you when you’re in the club.”</p><p> </p><p>Goosebumps assail her body with her growing excitement and thundering heart. It’s like it’s just him and her in this entire city now. Everything seems so impossibly far and an anticipatory smile etches onto her face. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m Nia,” she says hastily, “Wha—What’s your name?”</p><p> </p><p>He cocks his head to the side, looking coquettish.</p><p> </p><p>“Depends on who you ask.”</p><p> </p><p>Smiling wider at her questioning look, he continues.</p><p> </p><p>“In the last club I worked at I went by Jordan. At the grocery store the clerk knows me as Camille. At the gym I’m Joel. At Ladies Night, depending on the client, I’m Doug, Samuel, Freddie…” He rattles off more names, counting on his fingers. He must be referring to humans who know him, since he’d never get away with providing a false name to robots. Still, Nia simply watches his plump lips, entranced with every single little movement. </p><p> </p><p>...How do those lips feel?</p><p> </p><p>He looks at her with slightly narrowed eyes, gauging her. He’s still smirking.</p><p> </p><p>“You can call me Luca.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Nia suppresses the urge to reach out to him. She doesn’t even know what she would do if she did— probably run her hand under his shirt if she were to be honest— but the need to do <em> something </em> almost threatens to overwhelm her.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she asks him a question.</p><p> </p><p>“But what’s your real name?”</p><p> </p><p>“Now why would I tell you that?” He replies, smile never leaving his face and his tone becoming low husky drawl.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are you from?” She then asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Nowhere in particular.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Mysterious and seductive, </em>the words ring out in her head.</p><p> </p><p>He’s definitely far more than she bargained for. Far more than she could have ever imagined and she feels like she’s just unwrapped a present that’s been unopened for months.</p><p> </p><p>In an instant he moves closer to her, and a wave of heat assaults her lower stomach. Oh fuck, she’s fucking <em> whipped </em>for this guy she doesn’t know shit about him. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve noticed you like to look at me too,” he whispers, and Nia wets her lips, “And loyal to the club, which is something my manager really likes.” He leans down and his hot breath tickles her ears, “Why don’t you come over to my place? I’ll give you a special discount for my more… sought out services.”</p><p> </p><p>When his hands go to her hips she thinks she might have died and gone to heaven. Everything is— So , so surreal. She wants to touch him back, to finally feel his skin against her, to give into this feeling of pure, unabashed <em> need. </em>To rip off his clothing, to hungrily grope him, to maybe even give him a smack, to ride him, to fill his fullness inside of her, to— to—</p><p> </p><p>“I have a schedule.” She blurts out, and she feels the crushing weight of defeat drape over her.</p><p> </p><p>Luca’s lips curl downwards for a brief moment. “You’re chipped?”</p><p> </p><p>“...Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>He clicks his tongue, eyes flickering with disappointment; which in turn just serves to excite her further because <em> haaaah, he really wanted me to come over!!  </em></p><p> </p><p>Though just as quickly as it arrived, it disappears when he hides it under another seductive smirk. His hands leave her body and she already misses the feeling. Luca moves past her to get to his door, though he still keeps his eyes on her.</p><p> </p><p>“Then I guess I’ll have to wait for next week then. Give me a knock whenever you’d like.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives her a wink, and then he enters his apartment.</p><p> </p><p>Nia stands there awestruck for a long time.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nia would call Luca’s apartment organized chaos. It’s like he doesn’t have a closet, as every nook and cranny has a piece of clothing strewn about. It’s mainly things for the club… outfits like a bunny suit, a butler tuxedo, harnesses that she can’t figure out how he would put on, skimpy swimsuits, collars, an arpon… </p><p> </p><p>Yeah, the club has a lot of themes.</p><p> </p><p>And that’s not even mentioning the amount of lingerie lying around the place.</p><p> </p><p>“Women always like lace, so lingerie’s pretty much my default underwear nowadays. Even if they’re sometimes a literal pain in the ass,” he said when she asked him about it. And now, he’s undulating his hips as he gives her a slow and sensual lap dance on the couch. </p><p> </p><p>Every muscle in Nia’s body tingles with delight.</p><p> </p><p>Luca’s wearing nothing but a lilac thong. It’s a good colour, but Nia finds black is the best for his body. She’s glad they’re doing this now, because if she had gone into his apartment the night he solicited her she would have been a stupid, nervous wreck.</p><p> </p><p>She’s had a week to prepare herself.</p><p> </p><p>A week to realize she really, <em> really </em>misses having the company of the man. </p><p> </p><p>And she misses the distinct feeling of being in control. Perhaps it’s the chore of having to follow a strict schedule lest she want to be fucking fined, but it’s freeing— empowering, even— to have this precious moment of being the dominating force in someone else’s life. She intends to take full advantage of that.</p><p> </p><p>Especially since it involves the man she’s been lusting after for months now.</p><p> </p><p>Nia feels a hot breath against her neck and there’s a tender brush of lips. It’s like there’s fireworks just behind her eyes and she feels awashed with vigour and desire. Her hands reach over to greedily grope his asscheeks. She’s rewarded with an appreciative hum, and he suckles the base of her neck. A sudden strike of arousal courses through her, and it goes straight to her cunt.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you augmented?” She asks throatily when he gives her a hickey.</p><p> </p><p>She feels him smile against her skin and he throws the question back at her. “What about you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… ah, I’ve had my eyes augmented.”</p><p> </p><p>Luca leans back, hands idly going beneath her shirt as he continues to writhe on her lap. “That’s the bare minimum. Everyone’s got eye augments.” He leans back down to nip at her earlobe, his tongue going over some of her piercings. “I’m thinking of changing my eye colour to blue. Maybe it’ll give me more attention to the club.”</p><p> </p><p>Her hands grip his asscheeks harder. Ah, now she has the audacity to feel just a teensy bit jealous. But whatever, she’ll allow herself that for tonight.</p><p> </p><p>He grinds against her, and soon his lips lock onto hers. It’s not teasing, rather it’s hot and passionate and their tongues intertwine. He nips at her bottom lip when he leans back.</p><p> </p><p>“What made you become a stripper?” Her voice wavers, exhilarated from the tension between them.</p><p> </p><p>He quirks a brow at her. “Curious, are we?” His hands ride up her shirt, and soon it’s taken off her. “Let’s just say you’re either a trophy husband or a whore.” He smirks, “And I missed my chance to get hitched. Not that I mind, I like indulging myself in women who are… interested in me. The attention is nice.”</p><p> </p><p>His fingers circle around her nipples and he blows a soft whistle.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t really strike me as the punk type.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s almost ticklish how he touches her, but it probably has something to do with her nipple piercings. She watches him look over her body, his gaze tracing over the snake tattoo that slithers down her abdomen. </p><p> </p><p>As nice as it is to be the one ogled at, Nia feels an unimaginable pressure building up inside of her. </p><p> </p><p>And she wants more of that control she thought about earlier.</p><p> </p><p>Swinging her arm back, she brings her hand down with a resounding <em> smack </em> against his supple ass and moves her head forward to nip and lick at <em> his </em>nipples. She revels in the soft yelp that flies out of Luca’s mouth and she spreads his cheeks apart before slapping them with both of her hands.</p><p> </p><p>She growls against his chest, “The more you give me a lapdance the more I want to bully you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? Well, I’ve got some nipple clamps in the drawer. Maybe you’d like to bully me with that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck <em> yes.” </em></p><p> </p><p>With a smirk that’s practically his trademark smile, he gets off her to saunter over to the drawer, when he opens it he bends down suggestively to let her have one hell of a view of his ass and lilac lingerie. Nia quickly shimmies out of her pants, her hand goes to her heated clit and she hisses out a sound of pleasure, settling her legs apart. </p><p> </p><p>Luca soon comes back to her, kneeling between her legs to hand her the nipples clamps and a bonus item— a collar. He holds them almost reverently, like he’s handing out a crown for his queen. <em> Ah, </em>she’s going to be fingering herself to that image for many nights ahead, she just knows it. </p><p> </p><p>The nipple clamps are connected with a chain and Luca arches his back to fully and proudly display his wanton chest to her. Slowly, as if to amp the tension, she brings the clamps to his body. She hooks one on and Luca throws his head back with possibly the sluttiest groan she’s ever heard a man utter. Then she clamps on the other and he whimpers. His whole body is alight, all heat and delirious arousal. Or maybe that’s Nia? </p><p> </p><p>Not that the distinction matters.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re really good at this,” she breathes out, eyes flicking down to see the head of his erect cock peeking out of his lingerie. She swallows dryly, lips twitching upwards in a hungry smile.</p><p> </p><p>Luca chuckles as she puts the collar around his neck. It’s a snug fit. Part of her wishes he brought her a leash, too. </p><p> </p><p>“Some might say I was born for this,” he drawls with a wink.</p><p> </p><p>With the collar and nipple clamps done with, and him sitting between her spread legs… there’s only one natural reaction to be had.</p><p> </p><p>She grabs a hold of his silky brown hair, and shoves his face against her crotch.</p><p> </p><p>Nia moans when he gets straight to work. Beads of sweat trickle down her forehead as he licks around her labia. His nose presses against her clit as he hungrily laps at her juices. She grinds against his expert tongue, waves of pleasure washing over her with every stroke. </p><p> </p><p>This man—!! This man she just looked at for months is <em> hers!! </em>Never had she thought this would have become a reality. She had assumed he would be something to pine for, something out of her reach, something she could only have in her dreams. The cynic inside of her never let him be anything else other than an idle fantasy.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not dreaming is she? She’s not in some hyper realistic virtual reality module and forgot about it, right?</p><p> </p><p>The muscles in thighs become taut when she feels him add his fingers in her.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, yeah, this feeling is <em> way </em>too real to be a dream. Her heart flutters inside her chest and she bites her lip as he suckles on her clit. Soon she closes her legs around his ears and Luca closes his eyes, not stopping or hesitating for a moment as he continues to hungrily lap her up. The flat side of his tongue brushes against her clit continuously and she shudders, a moan trickling from her throat.</p><p> </p><p>His tongue and fingers plunge inside of her and lurid, wet noises fill her ears. They’ve been at this for several minutes at this point. More and more pressure builds inside of her, ready to burst out.</p><p> </p><p>Her hands go back into his hair and she spreads her legs to roughly push him back so he’s flying on his back.</p><p> </p><p>She wants that cock inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>With ravenous eyes she practically rips the lace underwear off of him and he chortles softly. Then, she pushes his legs back so his knees touch his chest, his legs bent so his feet are pointed to the ceiling. She takes a nice, greedy look at his puckered asshole and she knows she’s going to be dreaming of that part of his body for many future nights. That’ll have to wait, right now she’s got a red, veiny cock practically begging to be inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>She smirks down at him when she lines her entrance directly above his cock and she holds onto his ankles for extra support. “You’ve augmented this, haven’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Luca snorts. “Augmented dicks are like augmented eyes. Every man has them.” She notices his cheeks have reddened considerably, and her slick running down his chin turns her on <em> way </em>more than it should. </p><p> </p><p>“Been a while since someone’s put me in this position.” He says, “Usually women go for the cowgirl.”</p><p> </p><p>“Punks like me enjoy doing things a little differently.”</p><p> </p><p>She rubs herself against his tip, his cock rubbing against her throbbing clit making her shiver and letting out another hiss of pleasure. When Luca whimpers, she thinks she’s reached cloud nine.</p><p> </p><p>Nia decides to reward him for that <em> delicious </em>noise by finally sinking his cock into her. It doesn’t take long for him to be fully sheathed inside of her, and she begins to bounce against the back of his thighs. At first she moves with a sluggish pace, but she picks up in speed when Luca’s hands reach up to cup her breasts. He whines, a guttural and animalistic hunger that has both of their bodies trembling with arousal.</p><p> </p><p>She watches him with dazed eyes, her gaze scouring over his perfect face. Drool slithers out of his mouth and she grins wolfishly, her hips moving faster and tirelessly.</p><p> </p><p>Then Nia looks down at his clamped nipples.</p><p> </p><p>...She really wants to pull on the chain.</p><p> </p><p>But before she can consider the thought further, Luca speaks out.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m flexible,” he grinds out, “You can bend my legs further down.”</p><p> </p><p>Ah. Right. He can do the splits, and a great many other things while on the pole. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly, and almost experimentally, she pushes down on his ankles. She watches his face intently, and when his face scrunches in slight discomfort she clenches her cunt around his cock. Soon, she’s got him bent in half, his own feet on either side of his head as she continues to pin him down by the ankles.</p><p> </p><p>Flexible indeed.</p><p> </p><p>Now her walls quiver around his member. This position… is really fucking awesome. It’s a special kind of dominance with how she envelopes him. </p><p> </p><p>She continues gyrating her hips. She leans forward to capture his lips in hers while still holding onto his ankles, indulging in the delightful discomfort she causes him. Ah, he really is too beautiful for his own good. When they part from the kiss a thin string of saliva hangs between both their lips. </p><p> </p><p>Nia watches his face, enraptured, as she pounds herself against him. His hands soon move across her back, effectively embracing her.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You…” he breathes out, “You’re pretty g-good at this…”</p><p> </p><p>His expression is one of suspended pleasure and his throat bobs against his collar. She can feel his nipple clamps since her chest is pressed against his. The sensation on her own nipples is bizarre to say the least, her piercings rubbing against his chains, but it only serves to make her cunt throb even more.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah?” She responds by lifting her hips further than she has yet, almost making his cock completely leave before she slams legs back down. When her hips slam against the back of his thighs he rolls his eyes back. “W-Were you expecting me to be bad at this? I’ll have you know I’m a one of a kind fuck.”</p><p> </p><p>She fucks him more erratically, becoming breathless. As much as she finds having a man folded in half is fucking hot, this position and its need for her to bounce on him with her legs is fucking torture on her thighs after a while. Dammit, she really needs to hit the gym more.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily for her, she’s quickly finding herself needing to release the pressure inside of her. It won’t take long now, she’s just over the edge, ready to plunge in that euphoric feeling of finishing.</p><p> </p><p>There’s just one more thing to do to really get her off once and for all. </p><p> </p><p>She straightens her back, now looking down on him in a sitting position. She’s no longer holding him down by the ankles.</p><p> </p><p>Nia reaches down at the chain connecting his clamps.</p><p> </p><p>And she gives a tug. A <em> hard </em>tug— effectively ripping the things off his defenseless and now swollen nipples. Luca’s eyes blow open wide, his mouth parting in a soundless scream. Nia lets out a low, guttural groan from the back of her throat. That bit of pain she dished out— it was enough. Her entire body shudders violently and she clenches down his cock one last time.</p><p> </p><p>Evidently, Luca’s into some pretty interesting stuff since she soon feels him spill inside of her. The warmth of his semen entering her is another added layer of pleasure for her. These days with the help of augments, one can turn their fertility on and off like a switch, so Nia can enjoy this sort of delight all the more without any worry.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs happily, collapsing on him as she feels the aftershocks.</p><p> </p><p>Luca remains folded under her for a while.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nia wakes up on his couch. She’s still naked, and she stretches languidly.</p><p> </p><p>That was the most refreshing evening she’s had in a very long time. Though she wrinkles her nose at the smell of something unpleasant. Smoke.</p><p> </p><p>She sees Luca seated on a chair, facing away from her. He’s got a lit cigarette in his hands. Huh. She didn’t know he smoked. She rolls her shoulders, becoming more awake at each passing moment. He’s fully dressed, and she smirks at the fact that he’s probably wearing another pair of lingerie under there.</p><p> </p><p>“Hope I didn’t pull a muscle when I pushed your legs down,” she says jokingly.</p><p> </p><p>He responds with a simple <em> “mhm.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Picking up her discarded clothes, she begins dressing. Once she’s done, she sees he hasn’t moved from his seat and still isn’t looking at her. </p><p> </p><p>Many things go through her mind in quick succession.</p><p> </p><p>She’s watched him for a while. Her life was one dull routine after another, but now… To think he initiated everything! That he specifically came to her! She nibbles on her lip, heart beginning to thump erratically in her chest as her excitement grows.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know his name or where he’s from but that’s part of what makes this so <em> great. </em> He’s mysterious. Enticing. <em> Exciting. </em>A far cry from the monotony of her schedule.</p><p> </p><p>Nia clears her throat, “So… Um… Why’d you decide to come to me last week? What made it special?” </p><p> </p><p>Something new. Something exciting. Those words fly around her head again and again. Now… maybe… This is the start of something <em> more. </em>She’s always been a cynic, but for once she feels a bit optimistic about—</p><p> </p><p>“I needed extra rent money.”</p><p> </p><p>She had been completely unprepared for that answer, it almost makes her stagger. Soon she breaks out in a soft chuckle and about to make a snide retort, but Luca stands and turns—</p><p> </p><p>His face is completely impassive. There’s not a single remnant of that coy, seductive smirk she had seen for most of the night. Nothing even resembling how he approached her last night. It’s the exact same face he has when he’s ignoring beggars on the street.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> W-Wait a minute… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Nia opens her mouth, then closes it. There’s a pit in her stomach now, and her limbs slowly begin to feel heavier. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“My manager at the club has been taking most of my earnings. It’s pretty annoying. But I do have a debt to pay.” He seems to think about something for a moment. “Oh right, you asked about any augments I had. I have one in the spine, if I didn’t have it I would be a paraplegic. Expensive as hell though, so I hop around clubs trying to pay it off.”</p><p> </p><p>Nia can only stare slack jawed.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, I know you like to stare at me and figured you’d pay for a night.” He shrugs, face still completely blank though there’s flicker in his eyes that tells her he’s been slightly inconvenienced, “Good thing you came tonight, since my payment is due tomorrow. So thanks, I didn’t need to go work on a street corner this time.”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs again, “And you paid a decent amount, so I can get a little extra paid for my spinal augment. Thanks for that, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Is this some type of joke? The hell? She blinks in quick succession, mind failing her. She’s feeling utterly crushed, sinking into a pit she didn’t know existed. This can’t be real. What just happened? </p><p> </p><p>Luca expels a small cloud of smoke from those goddamn perfect looking lips and it causes her words to stick to her throat, plastering themselves to her trachea and refusing to dispel into the palpable air. In the end she’s only able to utter a pathetic “Huh?”</p><p> </p><p>He tilts his head.</p><p> </p><p>“You can leave now.”</p><p> </p><p>Her entire body tingles, though it’s with an entirely different feeling that makes her want to seep into the floor and disappear. Wordlessly and like a puppet on its strings she walks to leave his apartment.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t look at her when he closes the door on her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Mysterious and seductive.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Nia grits her teeth.</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t sure what she was expecting after fucking him, but it definitely wasn’t <em> that. </em> She was certainly thinking of something more fanciful, maybe akin to a start of some corny girl meets boy romance movie. A start to an <em> adventure. </em>She already knows next to nothing about Luca, but this really just solidified it. That seductive smirk of his that seemed to beckon her, what was that really? An act to get her inside? Just… something he puts on for his job? </p><p> </p><p>She remembers his flicker of disappointment when she told him she was chipped, it wasn’t because he couldn’t have her sooner— he was disappointed about not getting his rent money sooner.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You gotta do what you gotta do to get by nowadays. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ah, she really was played like a fucking fiddle.</p><p> </p><p>Her chest feels empty.</p><p> </p><p>Nia stands in front of her own door for a long time.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Despite everything, her schedule remains unchanged. She watches him in the morning when they both leave their apartment. He doesn’t look at her. She watches him from the bus stop. He doesn’t look at her. Sometimes they pass by in the grocery store. He doesn’t look at her.</p><p> </p><p>Every time, he’s got that impassive look.</p><p> </p><p>She still visits the club and watches him there. ‘<em> Never again', </em> she once vowed under her breath, but she keeps coming back to see him dance on the pole.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes he does make eye contact and that— that’s a silent signal for the both of them.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe her schedule has changed. Only slightly. Some nights during some months she waits for him at his apartment.</p><p> </p><p>She trails a finger on his lips after she pushes him against his door. They’re soft like silk. “You looked at me. Need extra rent money?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a twitch that tugs on the corner of his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>Tugging on his pants, she sees he’s wearing black lace lingerie. It almost makes her smile.</p><p> </p><p>Then she pushes her digit in his mouth and soon it’s knuckle deep. Luca— or whatever his real name actually is— wastes no time and begins running his tongue around her finger.</p><p> </p><p>She’s rougher with him now, too. When she gets inside she knows she’ll be slapping him around. She thinks she might use him as a footstool tonight. Either that or she’ll walk him around like a dog.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s her way of punishing him for leading her on, for making her think that her life could be something exciting and that she could have more with someone. </p><p> </p><p>She ignores the fact she brought this upon herself because of her childish obsession and lust. Her imagination and hopeless optimism got the better of her, but it’s just easier to blame everything on him. It’s better to just be a cynic. Loneliness makes fools out of people, she thinks bitterly.</p><p> </p><p>They’re not friends. They’re not even acquaintances. They <em> seldom </em> talk to each other. And they’re not <em> really </em> neighbours either. </p><p> </p><p>They’re just a whore and his client.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I always worry that my sex scenes are too short and ~plot~ is too long. But there's only so many times I can say a character shudders and clenches and all that. So I hope the plot makes up for it, and that it was interesting to read! I guess this one is for those angst lovers out there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Finest Catch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A knight captures a thief, and then she has some fun with him.</p><p>Includes: Predator/Prey, bondage, spanking, frottage, choking, a silly Avatar: The Last Airbender reference.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A wise man once said: Elves are for lewding.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Octavia paces around the marble floor, her armour clanking with every step. Night had fallen fast upon the land. No more than an hour ago the sky was painted with hues of red, orange and pink, but all colour had faded leaving only a black canvas with no stars to be looked upon. The darkness is thick, though the hanging lanterns on the wall bathe the surrounding areas in a low light. Her armour is shiny when the light hits it at the right angle, but in some places rusted. There are cuts, scrapes and dents from daily wear and tear.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a chilly wind that has a harsh enough bite and can be felt through her armour and leather. She shudders, face pinching into a look of slight annoyance. In the calm evening, the only people that seem to exist are her and the other knights patrolling the nearby area. While she paces around with impatience, the others mostly lounge around looking bored. There are some with horses, though they seem more interested in petting and cooing at their animals instead of paying attention to their surroundings.</p><p> </p><p>She stops behind a knight with short blonde hair sitting on the steps, and over her shoulder Octavia reads a letter that’s the reason they’re stationed here in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> On the ides of Musan, the Imperial Bank of Wintervale will have its vaults drained!! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> -Alvamar </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The knight with the letter— Silas— huffs. “This is just a red herring, I know it. Like the last three fucking letters we got. This damn thief is just making us go on a wild goose chase. It’s humiliating! We’re knights of the Holy Order! We should be doing… something <em> other </em>than chasing after a fucking thief!”</p><p> </p><p>Octavia pushes her thick braided hair over her shoulder, offering a sardonic smile towards her colleague, saying, “Now, now, we ought to be thankful the only pressing issue is a thief that’s been pilfering everyone’s pockets. I’d rather have to deal with this than, say, a war.” Granted, when she enlisted to become part of the Order and subjected herself to the grueling training she was expecting things to be more… exciting. Like rescuing a prince from a tower. Instead she’s mainly patrolling the outer cities, and wrestling the occasional bear that gets too close to the farmers.</p><p> </p><p>Silas stands, hands on her hips as she groans.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh. I hate being stationed to a new place every goddamn week. The least this stupid thief could do half the time is actually show up.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s true— they are on a bit of a wild goose chase. Alvamar sends his little letters to all the places he steals from, but the majority of them are bluffs to keep them on their toes. And that’s not even taking into account the ones they get from civilians that think they’re being funny. When he <em> does </em>show up, he’s always slippery enough to escape the Holy Order’s grasps. She may not rescue bachelors in a bind, but the thought of capturing a thief that has near legendary status at this point? That… sends a tingle down her spine every time she waits for him to show up.</p><p> </p><p>She’s chased him before, here and there. Whenever he does show up, it’s always… exhilarating. </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes scan the city, her gaze falling on the massive clocktower in the distance. It dwarfs everything else, silhouetting against the cloudy sky and looking mighty ominous. When the gloomy bell tolls it’s even <em> more </em>ominous, reminding Octavia of those gothic novels where the dead rise from their graves.</p><p> </p><p>She smirks, the motion twisting the scar that runs down her left cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“He’ll be here tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Silas looks as though she’s suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. “Oh yeah? What makes you so sure of that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, he’s gotta show up to one of these places eventually.”</p><p> </p><p>At that, Silas does roll her eyes. “When I get my hands on this fucker I’m gonna choke the life out of him. I don’t care if he’s wanted alive.” She angrily huffs and kicks at some stones. “Him and his stupid antics have kept me awake for three days! Ugh!” As if to demonstrate that fact, she dramatically pulls her cheeks down to reveal the bags under her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia chuckles under her breath. “What, didn’t you know if you pray to Sumire you’ll be granted eternal strength and alertness? You must have dozed off in that sermon. Tsk, tsk.”</p><p> </p><p>Her friend playfully punches her on the shoulder, uttering a soft “fuck you,” though there’s no bite to it. It’s their usual banter.</p><p> </p><p>“How do <em> you </em>know he’s a guy, anyway?” Silas asks after a moment.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia shrugs lazily. “An educated guess. I’m the only one who’s gotten close enough to get a good look at him. Sure, everything was covered but he’s got a male body, I’m sure of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I dunno. A man doing all this shit? I doubt it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shh. I have to imagine him as a man, otherwise how else am I gonna motivate myself to catch him?”</p><p> </p><p>Silas throws her head back and barks out a laugh. “Hah! True! He better be nice to look at, or else bothering to put up with this shit is pointless.” She narrows her eyes with a haughty grin. “Easy on the eyes or not, I’m still gonna throttle him when I get my hands on him.”</p><p> </p><p><em> If you get your hands on him, </em> Octavia muses, though she keeps her thoughts to herself. She’s known Silas for years, and as much as she appreciates her company here and there she knows she won’t let <em> anyone </em> catch Alvamar. He’s <em> her </em>prey.</p><p> </p><p>Now back to patrolling around the bank grounds, she surveys any possible escape routes. The city is like a labyrinth, but she’s also walked these streets her whole life. She knows them just the same as if they were etched in her head with a sharp knife, scored in deep like some strange work of art.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>There’s a lot of passageways and alleys an intrepid thief can make use of. The roofs, too. Anyone with half a battalion on their ass would probably scale the city walls and run deep into forest, despite the legends of dryads whisking poor souls away to essentially make them fertilizer. Yuck.</p><p> </p><p>Still, a run through the Dark Woods, that some say acts a boundary between the seen and unseen? That gets her blood pumping. The added danger to it makes her clench and unclench her fists, already feeling pent up energy that needs some release. She feels like she could run a fucking marathon.</p><p> </p><p>And her damn thief hasn’t even shown up yet.</p><p> </p><p>Growing more restless with each passing second, her pacing becomes faster and more erratic. At some points she practically jogs around the place. Each step is a tiny outlet for her ever growing energy. Dammit, now she’s gotten herself too excited— that’s a rookie mistake. The teachings of Sumire dictate that one must be centered and calm before striking. Something about honour and courage and whatever else.</p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, Octavia dozed off for that sermon, too.</p><p> </p><p>She blows a strand of stray brown hair out of her face. She has been eying escape routes for a while now, which would mean she expects he’s already inside. Really, if he snuck past all of them and currently pilfering the vaults she’s got to give him props for at least that. Maybe when she’s currently wrestling him to the ground, she'll be sure to throw him a single compliment. </p><p> </p><p>Before she, well… does certain things to him.</p><p> </p><p>He’ll be here tonight, and she’ll take full advantage of that. He <em> has </em>to be here, because—</p><p> </p><p>There’s a whistle.</p><p> </p><p>Then there’s the thunderous footsteps of her captain.</p><p> </p><p>“Get him—!! He’s bolted off towards 27th avenue! Do not let him get away!”</p><p> </p><p>Octavia doesn’t bother to stop the wolfish grin forming on her face, and without a second thought, she bolts down the same avenue she had been looking over mere moments ago with a great lolloping gait. 27th avenue has lots of alleys and tight, small places— not anywhere any of the knights on the horses can get through. </p><p> </p><p>That excites her further.</p><p> </p><p>No unneeded distractions from the cavalry.</p><p> </p><p>Just her and him.</p><p> </p><p>She runs, feet kissing the stone path. The clanging noise of her armour resonates around the concrete walls of the houses and other buildings with an echo. It’s heavy, but she wouldn’t be much of a knight if she couldn’t run with this thing on.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia stops for a moment, looking around her surroundings. The commotion has roused some civilians, and she sees some curious eyes peeking from their curtains. Distantly, she hears other knights running to catch up with her. She tries to block out any distractions, fingers twitching beside her whip. She concentrates, and soon all outside noises become muffled.</p><p> </p><p>Then she hears something new.</p><p> </p><p>Someone’s running on the tiled roofs, jumping from house to house.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia glances upwards, just barely catching a glimpse of a silhouette of something lithe— yet undeniably masucline. He continues sprinting across the rooftops, quickly disappearing from her sight. </p><p> </p><p>Octavia’s grin grows wider.</p><p> </p><p>And more feral.</p><p> </p><p>She bolts off, snaking between narrow passageways, and only her hearing out for the thief’s footsteps on the roofs guides her. She knows she can’t waste any time climbing any of these buildings so she doesn’t. He’ll have to come down eventually, and when he does, she’ll be sure to strike like a viper.. </p><p> </p><p>Loose gray pebbles crunch underneath her heels and her long, braided hair whip back and forth behind her like a fiery tail as she flings over empty market stalls and benches. Octavia doesn’t stop for anything, but of course she doesn’t— stopping now would be an unfathomable mistake, and him escaping is not something she’s willing to let happen tonight.</p><p> </p><p>Her breath comes in small spurts, her tanned fingers curling into fists that soon become sweaty. Her limbs are moving on their own. She’s disconnected from everything but the ever present sound of her drumming heart and the quick and swift footsteps of her prey.</p><p> </p><p>Heart pumping, head spinning, lungs bursting and body screaming for more... Every muscle craves relaxation as blood courses miles of veins and a pulse sounds in Octavia’s ears... ba-boom, ba-boom. It's a glimpse of heaven for a few seconds. She loves it.</p><p> </p><p>It feels as though her blood is on fire.</p><p> </p><p>It feels fucking <em> divine. </em></p><p> </p><p>Nothing stands in her way.</p><p> </p><p>Not even a cart some random merchant is wheeling out at the worst place at the worst time. Suddenly, the obstruction <em> is </em>standing in her way in the narrow cobblestone street.</p><p> </p><p>But that’s hardly an issue.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t slow down an iota, barreling directly into the cart while holding her forearms in front of her face to protect her head. The cart, <em> naturally, </em>doesn’t stand much of a chance against her impressive form. She’s blessed by Sumire after all, she would be a piss poor excuse of a huntress to let a bunch of wood stop her. Splinters fly in every direction as the cart practically disintegrates when she runs through it. The merchant, having the look of someone who just witnessed their firstborn being flayed alive in front of them, falls flat on her ass.</p><p> </p><p>“M-My cabbages!”</p><p> </p><p>Belatedly, she realizes that she did, indeed, demolish a cart of cabbages. The green leaves daintily float to the ground, and Octavia pries a piece out of her hair.</p><p> </p><p>Meh, it’ll give her some energy for the chase. She eats it.</p><p> </p><p>There’s several minutes of more zig-zagging around the labyrinthine city with moments of gymnastics on the thief’s part that she would begrudgingly admit is pretty impressive if she wasn’t in the midst of trying to get her damn hands on him.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily for her, however, his gymnastics isn’t <em> perfect. </em>One more building lies between him and the city walls— a bathhouse. It has a ledge that’s as wide as a single foot and probably with all the grip of black ice. It goes right around the building, some sort of architect's decoration, smooth dark granite against the dyed beige concrete walls. Most certainly it was never designed to be walked on, never to take even the weight of a child, and this thief is no child.</p><p> </p><p>He makes the jump, but isn’t able to hold his balance on the tiny ledge and slips off.</p><p> </p><p>Then he manages to grab ahold of it with his hand.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia immediately moves on instinct. Her legs have a vaguely painful cramp running through them, and when she stops she feels her knees buckle just a tad. She ignores it. Her hand immediately goes to her whip that’s holstered next to her currently useless sword. She unfurls the devilish leather, swinging her arm back in practiced movements before bringing it forward with as much force as she can muster. There’s a satisfying <em> crack </em>in the air that sends a tingle down her spine.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a whip imbued with holy magic— should the user desire it, it will also act as a sort of lasso, binding one’s quarry as it slithers across their bodies.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately for her, it would appear the ledge Alvamar’s dangling off of is a tad bit <em> too </em> high. The whip can’t coil itself around him. However, what it <em> does </em>…</p><p> </p><p>Is give his ass a good smack.</p><p> </p><p>The sound practically echoes throughout the entire town, and Octavia muses it was loud enough to wake civilians several blocks over. And, since she likes to think she’s allowed to indulge herself a teensy bit, she’d say she could practically see his ass clench underneath his tight black pants.</p><p> </p><p>She has to stop herself from throwing her head back and laughing.</p><p> </p><p>Credit where credit’s due, however. He doesn’t stagger and fall like she’s half expecting him to. Instead, the smack seems to have given him renewed vigour and he quickly and flawlessly maneuvers himself in a way that he’s able to climb up the ledge and begin moving across the roof.</p><p> </p><p>But not before turning his head back. He’s covered from head to toe, but she catches a glimpse of his dark eyes. He gives her a pointed glare before scurrying off like a deer in the sights of a hunter’s crossbow.</p><p> </p><p>Despite probably having a stinging ass, he’s quick to jump from the bathhouse’s roof and climb the city walls.</p><p> </p><p>Most would give up at this point— it’s done, he’s passed the finish line before everyone else and is now in the depths of the Dark Forest. The thick trees and a bush are a more treacherous labyrinth than the city, and who knows what lurks behind the fog that blankets the ominous shrubbage. </p><p> </p><p>Anyone in their right mind would call it a quits. Maybe kick at a barrel in frustration before later accepting that they’ll have to try again next time.</p><p> </p><p>But, perhaps, Octavia isn’t in her right mind.</p><p> </p><p>There’s still too much excitement and adrenaline that’s swimming through her veins.</p><p> </p><p>Inhaling heavily, she breaks into another sprint with her whip still tightly coiled in her hand. Luckily, there was a guard stationed near a door that leads to a passageway to the forest that witnessed the whole thing, and she wisely doesn’t get in Octavia’s way. Rather, the guard opens the entrance with something akin to reverence.</p><p> </p><p>The door nearly bursts into splinters like the cabbage cart when Octavia almost breaks it off its hinges.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, the lining of trees come closer, and closer, and closer. Many people in the city live their entire lives never setting foot here, and that only serves to send another electrifying strike of excitement to course through her. She’s patrolled here and there in the Dark Woods, but only on strictly designated paths.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no paths to follow where she runs, all that she has is instinct and drive.</p><p> </p><p>It makes her feel like the wolves she worships, the emissaries of Sumire.</p><p> </p><p>She wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything else in the world.</p><p> </p><p>How many stories has she heard of foolish adventurers going into these woods and never being seen again? Octavia would snort if she weren't in the midst of making her lungs feel like they’re about to explode. Briefly, she wonders if Silas is going to be dismayed upon learning she’s run into the place everyone always tells them to never go alone in.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever. She’ll be fine. She’ll see them in the morning.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Branches constantly attack her, leaves crunch under her feet and big, moss covered logs seem to appear out of thin air as if to try to stop her. The blackness nurtures a vague sense of claustrophobia inside of Octavia even though the woodland stretches unbroken for miles. There’s a thin mist, sometimes making things even harder to see. Anyone else would have become disoriented, but not her. Not when her senses feel heightened in practically every regard.</p><p> </p><p>Her pace doesn’t slow, no matter what she has to vault her body over. At this point, her muscles burn, but it’s a feeling she always welcomes.</p><p> </p><p>She’s been possessed by one of Sumire’s wolves— it’s the only explanation.</p><p> </p><p>Alvamar doesn’t stop his pace either, which is pretty commendable in its own right. Sometimes she half expects him to begin scaling a tree. She can see his form, though sometimes it’s obstructed by the many trees and bushes. Whip in hand, time seems to slow as she tries to find the perfect opportunity to strike.</p><p> </p><p>She calculates the time it’ll take for her to whip him, and the distance needed to properly have the leather snake around his body so it can bind him.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia’s so close, yet so far—!!</p><p> </p><p>She strikes— but it fails. It hits a tree and part of the bark breaks apart. Huffing angrily, she swings it back but it had cost her valuable time and distance. Her muscles still burn, but it’s the kind where her strength is waning. Fuck, she can’t lose her quarry now, and not like this!! Not after all this! </p><p> </p><p>Snarling like a wolf, she summons one last spurt of energy and magic to get as close as she can and arches her arm back for one last swing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s now or never! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She can feel the crackle of magic flowing through the whip, she’s going to need to rest for days at the monastery under an enchantment to get her power back. But that’s a small issue in comparison, it’ll be worth expending all her energy if she can capture this wily little deer trying to escape her claws.</p><p> </p><p>There’s another opening, and she strikes again.</p><p> </p><p>Heart feeling as though it’s about to burst, she shuts her eyes tightly and she thinks she might tear a muscle in her shoulder with how violently she brings the whip forward. She practically throws it, praying that Sumire will take it forward to get this slippery fucker.</p><p> </p><p>The whip now out of her hands, she feels the desire to continue running quickly ebb away. Her head is pounding too much for her to have heard if she was successful or not. </p><p> </p><p>Hand on her knees, she wheezes as her burning lungs gasp for air. Her amour must be damn filthy after that sprint, but at least the mist provides some small sense of comfort— it’s cold and wet, and it helps cool her off. Loose strands of her long hair lies like a second skin over her cheeks and she looks as though she were just caught in a sudden torrential rainstorm. She can feel the linen clothes she wears under her armour cling uncomfortably to her body.</p><p> </p><p>She stands for several moments, trying to compose herself and regain her energy. </p><p> </p><p>Then she remembers she has a water flask strapped on her hip. </p><p> </p><p>Wasting no time, she takes several gulps, some of drips of precious water trailing down her chin as she drinks almost the entirety of the flask’s contents. It’s time like these that water is the tastiest thing on Sumire’s green earth because <em> fuck, </em>is it a hell of a pick me up. Wiping her chin and feeling the pounding in her head slowly but surely subside, she begins to hear—</p><p> </p><p>A small, pathetic whimper.</p><p> </p><p>“Ngh… ugh…”</p><p> </p><p>Her lips twitch into a feral look of triumph. Victory beads her skin like dew on spring grass. She’s electrified, awake, soaring to new heights of emotion. There’s a sudden surge of excitement and anticipation, similar to when she first began the chase. The wolf’s caught her deer, and now he lays limp in her teeth.</p><p> </p><p>When she begins walking towards his form, she can see him stiffen immediately. The action causes her to lick her lips as she takes twisted delight in his fear. He <em> should </em>be afraid, because like any good predator she intends to make good use of her prize.</p><p> </p><p>Glancing to the side, she sees a single burlap sack that has some golden coins spilling out of it. No wonder he was able to run as fast as he did, it’s not like he was weighed down by much.</p><p> </p><p>She snorts. “All that trouble and you only took one bag of coins? Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?”</p><p> </p><p>His limp form moves slightly, and she hears a biting retort while he pants heavily. </p><p> </p><p>“All that trouble… haah... and you only now... you catch me? Aren’t the knights…. ngh…. of the Holy Order supposed to be ble—blessed…. by the goddess of the hunt?”</p><p> </p><p>Octavia has half a mind to kick him while he’s down, but she merely stands over him. The mist seemingly departs the more she stares at him and she <em> finally </em>gets a good look at her hard earned quarry.</p><p> </p><p>She chuckles at the sight.</p><p> </p><p>Evidently, her whip has a mind of its own. The leather is draped around him like rope, tightly curled around his svelte body and undoubtedly difficult to get out of. His wrists are even bound behind his back. Octavia will have to make sure to send her thanks to Sumire for being kind enough to be so thorough.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, magic. Fucking brilliant. Times like these certainly make her job all the more satisfying.</p><p> </p><p>And that’s not even taking into account how the whip is wrapped around his more… <em> intimate </em>areas. He’s lying on his stomach, and she’s got the best look at his ass she’s ever had. His clothing is tight— likely making it easier for him to sneak around— and it really leaves nothing to imagination when it comes to his behind. He’s got a perky butt and Octavia has to suppress another low, husky chuckle. </p><p> </p><p>A part of the whip runs between his asscheeks. It must be uncomfortable, and the mere fact sends a gust of warmth pulsating through her body. It’s like she’s in a furnace and now the damp coldness of the forest does nothing to alleviate the heat that assails her. The sweat trickles down her back, free flowing like condensation on a window pane, it beads on her forehead and drips from her chin.</p><p> </p><p>She needs to get out of this stuffy armour.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly fumbling with the straps, her breastplate and gauntlets fall to the ground with a resounding <em> thud. </em>Stretching, her neck and back muscles pop satisfyingly and she feels immediate relief. </p><p> </p><p>Then she hears leaves crunching beneath something. Looking ahead, she sees Alvamar trying, and failing, to break away from his bindings. He wiggles across the floor in an attempt to get away from her. Octavia’s heart race quickens at the sight, the tips of her fingers tingling and her wicked grin becoming wider. He doesn’t get very far in his sad attempt to escape and she only needs to take three steps forward to get in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Now where do you think you’re going?” She taunts after a laugh, reveling in how he tenses again.</p><p> </p><p>She places her foot on the back of his shoulder and he groans heavily while still panting like a bitch in heat. His face is smushed against the dirt, and his eyes are only still visible. Oh no, that simply won’t do. She reaches down to roughly rip off the mask that covers his nose and mouth. She also releases something else— his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Elves. Always getting into trouble, huh?” She says mockingly, watching how his pale skin takes on a glossy shine from the thin layer of sweat running down his face. His pointed ears press against the side of his head and she sees a hint of redness on the tips. Oho, the poor little thing is embarrassed. </p><p> </p><p>He continues to glare at her, lips pursed into a thin line.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t miss how his eyes flick to her water flask. She narrows her eyes, playfully swaying it in her hands.</p><p> </p><p>“You’d like some water?”</p><p> </p><p>Alvamar grimaces, an unintentional whine escaping his throat as he rubs his lips together. </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll give you a drop.” Octavia says with mirth in her tone. She makes a point to have another sip and then swings the flask. From the sound it’s obvious there’s still water inside, but not much.</p><p> </p><p>The elf’s face becomes redder, and there’s a subtle tightening of his jaw and furrow between his brows. Octavia’s eyes speak of nothing but a challenge.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a brief battle of the wills, but clearly the need for moisture after running a marathon wins out.</p><p> </p><p>Expression pinched in frustration, he pants out his response.</p><p> </p><p>“Nngh… C-Can I…” His voice is filled with desperation, only becoming more pathetic with each word, “Can I please have some water…?”</p><p> </p><p>Octavia considers the man bound beneath her, and her foot moves to his head and she leans down. “Stick out your tongue,” she commands. </p><p> </p><p>There’s brief resistance on his face, but he does so. She holds the water flask above him, watching his pupil dilate. When a small drip of water just barely dangles on the rim of the flask he strains his tongue out further, small whimpers coming out of him. A drip falls, landing on his tongue, then another falls on his plump though chapped lips. </p><p> </p><p>She’s feeling a <em> little </em>generous, so she continues dripping some more onto him. He laps it up eagerly. Perhaps she watches his tongue dart in and out of his mouth with too much eagerness, but there’s neither here nor there. When finished, she puts back on the lid and flippantly throws the flask to the side, and his panting lessens considerably. Before going to walk around him to get another look at his ass, she presses her foot harder on his head— his accompanying grunt of discomfort sending an electrifying shiver down her spine.</p><p> </p><p>Now appreciating at his ass again, she tuts. “Now, what will I do with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Let me go, and maybe I won’t stick a knife through your throat.”</p><p> </p><p>Clearly, having a little water has made her thief more energetic. </p><p> </p><p>He shifts his body, probably fighting against the whip again, but the leather hinders his feeble attempts. He still lays on his stomach when she kneels directly behind his ass. “Now that’s no way for a man to speak, much less an elf.” She says lowly, her drawl thick like molasses as she sarcastically reprimands him.</p><p> </p><p>“Go fuck yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. She lifts an arm up and brings it down to give his ass a smack. The second her palm strikes his cheek, a surprised whimper is released, and are her ears playing tricks on her? There’s a hint of <em> pleasure </em>mixed in that whine. Clearly, Alvamar must have realized that mishap, because she can hear his teeth click when he shuts himself up.</p><p> </p><p>“Whaaaaat?” She draws out the question mockingly, feeling his ass clench beneath her palm. “Does it feel good? Does my little thief get off from getting his ass smacked? Did you secretly like it when I whipped you?”</p><p> </p><p>Octavia expresses a sadistic smile and slaps her hand onto his toned ass again.</p><p> </p><p>Evidently, Alvamar isn’t very good at keeping his noises in check, because there’s another whimper; though he tries to hide it with a retort.</p><p> </p><p>“D-Didnt know that— <em> ugh— </em> that the Holy Order was full of a bunch of whores…” He spits out, fists clenched on his back as he wriggles around again like an irritated worm within his restraints. Every movement seems to make the whip curl around him tighter, and he eventually— and smartly— gives up on that pipe dream.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia can see her breathing as it comes out in puffs of warm air. She’s beginning to breathe more heavily, arousal quickly flowing through her.</p><p> </p><p>She loves putting brats into their place.</p><p> </p><p>“Such a mouthy little thing,” she jeers and her lips curl into a wicked sneer, practically clawing at his ass before spanking him again, “I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p> </p><p>With another resounding smack, Alvamar’s waist bounces up as he lets out an uncouth squeal. He kicks his legs up to no avail, and she continues her assault on his defenseless ass. Craning her neck to look at his face, she can see the blush on his ears has spread to his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ah, how cute. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It arouses her further. </p><p> </p><p>“You should take responsibility for this,” she roughens her tone, each word punctuated with another hit, “I’m getting all hot and bothered because of you. This is all your fault.”</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You—” A particularly hard smack makes him bite down on his words, his voice going up an octave. “Ngh!”</p><p> </p><p>She hits him with all her strength— which, if she’s allowed to brag, is a lot— so much so her palm soon begins to sting slightly. With every hit, Alvamar finds enough strength to complain about it to her. </p><p> </p><p>“Agh—?! Guugh, s-stop it!”</p><p> </p><p>Octavia isn’t about to show him any mercy, no matter how pitifully he begs. She becomes consumed in her ever growing lust, and continues swinging her palm of her hand down on black-clad ass earnestly. She can feel and see his ass clench with each spank.</p><p> </p><p>Despite his shrill, almost sluttish whines, it really is surprising how he’s able to tolerate this humiliation and stinging pain to such an extent. Octavia had thought he’d act more furious than this. He must be quite the masochist, but, ah, she already knew that.</p><p> </p><p>His soft cries resounds together with the dry sound of his ass being struck.</p><p> </p><p>“Argh! N-Ngh!”</p><p> </p><p>Alvamar grinds his hips from another severe hit. As the spanks continue raining down upon him, his body bounces and shudders all over causing the elf to tremble like a fearful little fawn. With one last smack that seems to reverberate across the entirety of the forest, she stops.</p><p> </p><p>She’s satisfied that she’s carved her mark into the supple flesh of his ass. Octavia shakes her hand, then sharply tugs at the part of the whip that runs between his asscheeks. There’s a full body flinch on Alvamar’s part and she chuckles. She then caresses his cheeks with her fingers, pushing against it like a chewy piece of candy and relishing in how he twitches.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s all I’ll do.” She says, and Alvamar lets out a long sigh to vent his anxiety and relaxes his body.</p><p> </p><p>Though she doesn’t miss the hint of disappointment from that sigh. There was impatience, too.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Heh. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Grabbing onto his muscular thighs and feeling the tautness of his limbs, she roughly turns him over on his back. There’s a small huff of surprise from him, and she wastes no time sitting upon his waist.</p><p> </p><p>She can feel his bulge.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve enjoyed this more than I did, huh?” She says, voice dropping several octaves as she brings her body closer to his when she leans down. Her face is soon directly above him, and she sees realization flicker in his eyes as he quickly comes to the conclusion that <em> no, </em>she was only finished with the spanking, but not with him. She takes a quick moment to appreciate his face— handsome in all the right places.</p><p> </p><p>The corners of his lips twitch, and she can tell he’s fighting a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia lazily trails a finger from his chin up to the corner of his left eye, lightly pressing down on a beauty mark that’s there. Hah, maybe that’s why she’s so taken with him— they say beauty marks can completely enthrall someone with the right enchantments.</p><p> </p><p>She’s about to lean down to lick his cheek, but he opens his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>And spits at her face.</p><p> </p><p>Instinctively her face wrinkles into a look of disgust. His saliva drips on her face, and she narrows her eyes when the condesencing smirk he was fighting just moments ago stretches across his lips. There’s a vivid blush on his cheeks, and for a moment she thinks he moves his hips against her— but the movement is too subtle for her to be sure.</p><p> </p><p>But his face is enough. He’s taunting her, daring her to do something.</p><p> </p><p>He may have been begging her to stop, but this brazen little bastard is just begging for <em> more </em>now. Her face is forms into a sneer, but she clenches her cunt as she grows even more excited.</p><p> </p><p>And she intends to give what he truly wants to him fully.</p><p> </p><p>“Wha—What’s the matter?” He pants out, sounding breathless as if he just run another marathon, “Can’t take a little spi—nngghh—”</p><p> </p><p>His snide remark is cut off when she tightly grips his throat, a hold that acts as a warning. With both hands she pushes down on his windpipe. It’s not enough to outright threaten his life but it’s enough to make breathing uncomfortable for him. He stutters out a few inhales and exhales, parting his mouth slightly as his blush becomes a more deep scarlet.</p><p> </p><p>She can feel his pulse become thunderous against her palms, making a numb and throbbing sensation coursing through her clit. Running off the desire for stimulation, she grinds against his crotch. His face contorts into something else— pure desperation, his eyes begging for a new yearning; he wants relief for his quickly hardening cock.</p><p> </p><p>He likes being choked. It makes his back arch. But well, she already knew he’s partial to this—</p><p> </p><p>Her grip on his throat tightens, looking directly in his caramel brown eyes. He almost shyly averts his gaze from hers, his eyelashes flutter, and his lips quiver slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Now would you look at that,” she growls, earning her a muffled groan from Alvamar, “Being docile and obedient… it suits you. You’ve already made it clear you want this, so just relax, you damn brat.” </p><p> </p><p>Drool falls from his lips and dribbles down his chin, accompanied by beads of sweat as salty as tears. “Y-Y-You…” he chokes out, “...bitch…! Nggh...” With every breathless moan, Octavia curls her fingers around his neck tighter as she continues grinding her hips. She can see his straining muscles through his clothes, his alabaster skin must have lovely red marks crisscrossing around it thanks to the whip, a fact she hopes to exploit later. She can even see his nipples harden beneath the fabric, making her grin wolfishly.</p><p> </p><p>Shuddering, she takes one of her hands to shove it down her pants. Grunting as she has to awkwardly fumble to get out of her leg armour. After that nuisance is taken care of, she grinds against him with renewed vigour. One of her hands goes to her crotch, and she bends a finger up to begin stroking her clitoris through her thin underwear. Her muscles immediately become taut.</p><p> </p><p>The small bead of flesh swells rapidly as she steadily touches herself up and down.</p><p> </p><p>Even with one hand on his throat, her superior physical strength still makes it difficult for him to breathe, but still not enough to cause him any actual harm. His cock is hard, probably painfully straining against the confines of his pants. Desperately, he ground his hips against hers, matching the rhythm of the sinful vibrations. His legs are shaking violently, and when she makes eye-contact again, Alvamar shoots her a pleading look as if trying to convey just how much he needs this.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re as easy as a street corner whore,” Octavia snarls, “The greatest thief this kingdom has ever known, getting hard over being choked and spanked. How utterly fascinating.”</p><p> </p><p>She leans forward, licking his cheek and tasting the salt of his sweat while she thrusts her hips roughly. Alvamar howls more so than moans, voice tinged with pleasure and shock.</p><p> </p><p><em> Mine, mine, mine. Everything about him is </em>mine.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, Octavia’s own voice is liquid with bliss. She grunts and moans, joining Alvamar’s more shrill whimpers and yelps. Her fingers continue their constant, quickening pace. He shivers as if slightly ticklish every time she grinds against him. His cock is <em> so </em>hard, she can feel that more and more, and it only adds to the heavenly sensations that shoot across her body. The friction must affect him more than she thought, because his eyes roll back.</p><p> </p><p>Her soothing caresses against her pulsating clit becomes rougher and faster. A part of her wants to take her other hand to grope her breasts, but her desire to keep choking him outweighs everything else. Soon, two of her fingers plunge into her cunt, and she hears wet squelching noises as she pumps in and out of her wet vagina. </p><p> </p><p>She feels the delicious tingles assail her entire body, and Alvamar’s debauched and desperate face only further pleases her.</p><p> </p><p>And his choked out <em> noises…. </em>Are an entirely different beast.</p><p> </p><p>“Nnn! Agh, aaah!”</p><p> </p><p>Alvamar’s head jerks backwards, further exposing his white neck between her tanned fingers. His spine curves like a bow as he tries to squirm away from her, and yet he moves his hips in a way like he’s trying to fuck her. Octavia makes her slightly waning grip on his throat more firm, effectively pinning him down again.</p><p> </p><p>“Fwaah...aah… p-please—!”</p><p> </p><p>Continuing to dig her fingers into herself, she growls. “Such a cute little thief. Do you have any idea how much everyone else in the Order would want to fuck you if they knew how handsome you were?”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes flutter shut, hips continuing to ground into hers. He chokes out more incoherent noises and babbles on, and she can practically feel the outline of his thick cock against her swollen pussy lips as she fingers herself. She hooks her fingers, pressing against a bundle of nerves that begins to send her over the edge.</p><p> </p><p>Their voices are filled with a carnal lust, assaulting her eardrums like a wave of pleasure and making red hot sparks fly in front of her eyes. He’s not even inside of her and there’s layers of clothes between them, and yet it feels like a wild, bestial intercourse that’s marked by the both of them coveting one another’s genitals as much as they could as they both near orgasm.</p><p> </p><p>Her vaginal walls clench down hard against her fingers, and her entire body trembles as overwhelming and blinding gratification washes over her. Everything tingles, feeling as though any touch will send static shocks across her skin. In the midst of her blazing orgasm, Alvamar snaps his hips against hers for a one last time, howling out her name.</p><p> </p><p>“O-O-Octavia…!!”</p><p> </p><p>Then his body joins her in trembling and shaking. Everything feels tight, and she throws her head back in delight.</p><p> </p><p>Once the electric shocks slowly subside, she still twitches on top of Alvamar. Looking back down on him, he’s got a look of pure bliss and tears trickle down his face.</p><p> </p><p>Spurred on the same drive and instinct she had felt when she chased him, she leans down to kiss his tears.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Octavia sits against a mossy tree, the dampness of the forest a welcome reprieve from the fiery warmth she had felt just moments ago. It helps that she’s nude now, too. She breathes in slowly, utterly and completely relaxed in this moment.</p><p> </p><p>Alvamar’s head lays between her breasts. He’s also nude, and like she thought, he’s got red marks criss crossing his skin, with his ass and neck being the reddest parts of his lithe yet toned body. He stirs awake when she cards a hand through his brown hair, and he blinks slowly with a dreamy look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm… that was fucking great. You sure showed me for being a brat.” He crawls forward to nuzzle his face in the crook of her neck.</p><p> </p><p>And therein lies the true nature of their relationship.</p><p> </p><p>Alvamar isn’t a one man show— she and him work together. While a knight in the Holy Order, she scouts out his targets, providing him with detailed maps that she draws herself and he does the sneaking around. They send many letters, most of which are red herrings, to send the other knights in a wild goose chase and have a good number of them posted elsewhere. When he does show up for a heist, she sometimes— not always, as to not to cast suspicion over herself— chases after him. And when she catches him, she always gives him a good… punishment, roleplaying as the knight she’s meant to be while he pretends to be haughty prey. </p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, she was so far into her headspace she worried she might have overdone it here and there, but seeing his contented face takes away any fears she has.</p><p> </p><p>They’re quite the diabolical couple, if she does so herself. They don’t live overly lavish lifestyles, but they definitely enjoy the lucrative rewards they rake in.</p><p> </p><p>Octavia stretches her hands over her head, before bringing them back down to embrace Alvamar. “Probably gave the dryads a good show, if they exist.”</p><p> </p><p>For all the rumours and legends this forest has, it’s really not that… <em> special, </em>save for the almost permanent mist that surrounds it. She’s fucked Alvamar enough times here to know it’s a normal run of the mill forest. Perhaps all the talk of the “Dark Woods”— a name she always thought was silly— is meant to keep the civilians in the city walls.</p><p> </p><p>That’s fine, it means she gets to traipse around here with Alvamar without fear of being caught. It still provides for a thrilling chase, dryads real or not.</p><p> </p><p>Alvamar’s long ears flick up and down happily, “Next time you should hogtie me, and take me to your dungeon. Like an Inquisitor.” He says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. </p><p> </p><p>She snorts. “Oh yeah, the dungeon. Because I have one of those just lying around.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, we could pretend the clocktower is one!”</p><p> </p><p>She brings her fist down on the top of his head in a light bonk. “You know I can’t climb that thing for shit. It would be too risky, people would see me failing to get up there anyway.” Admittedly, however, she’s been thinking of another idea— pretending he’s a prince she needs to rescue from a tower. She’s still trying to figure out the logistics of it, but it <em> is </em>something she’d like to propose to him at some point.</p><p> </p><p>Alvamar pouts. The clocktower is his hideout, which is good in its own way. Climbing up the thing keeps him fit and <em> very </em>pleasing on the eyes. His dark clothing makes him almost impossible to see when he scales it during the night.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, whatever you have planned next, I sure hope I can be inside you next time. Ride me into the ground and shatter my pelvis.” He gives her a lopsided smirk, “I’d thank you for shattering my pelvis. Also, you can choke me again, which would make it even better.” His hand slithers up to lazily massage one of her breasts. </p><p> </p><p>Octavia chortles softly, and she pats him on the head, he leans into the touch. Then his eyes flicker with something and he looks back up at her.</p><p> </p><p>“You really think I’m handsome enough that everyone in the Order would wanna fuck me?”</p><p> </p><p>She lifts a single brow at him. “If you weren’t so nice to look at, I wouldn’t fuck you like I do.”</p><p> </p><p>A dull scarlet dots his cheeks and the edge of his ears, and he squirms against her. He always did like it when she complimented him, so she makes sure to do it often when they’ve finished roleplaying.</p><p> </p><p>“You knoooooow,” he says coyly, “There’s still plenty of time before the sun rises. Maybe we could—ah!”</p><p> </p><p>One of her hands moves to his nipple, her fingers squeezing down on it and she moves it sharply left and right. In seconds, it’s hard as a pebble.</p><p> </p><p>“You want a round two, huh?” She says lowly, and he squirms against her again. She takes a hold of his shoulders and switches them around so she’s on top of him. “I hope you remember to thank me when I shatter your pelvis.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Silas nearly punches her when she comes back.</p><p> </p><p>“W-We thought you were a goner! And you come back empty handed with your magic drained?!”</p><p> </p><p>Octavia kicks at the wall, her face twisting in a grimace she knows is convincing. She knows that, if anything, her fellow knights will have a newfound respect for her for going into the Dark Woods and living to tell the tale. Her throat rumbles with a raspy growl, making sure to have her voice sound as angry as possible. </p><p> </p><p>“That little thief gave me a run for my money… I’ll fucking catch him next time!”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was gonna add roleplaying on the summary, but that would have ruined the surprise, hehe. I guess these two are kind of a mix between Marjorie and Clayton from "Ride 'em, cowboy" and Isabel and Damianus from "A Night at the Museum," lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Thicker Than Water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by Yoinks - A vampire needs a new pet, so she goes ahead and takes what she wants.</p><p>Includes: Blood kink, dub-con, handjob, nipple clamps, post orgasm torture, biting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>There’s blood dripping from the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>It’s old— it’s already browning with those sickly matted clumps that are fragments of what was once alive. Zakiya’s glistening eyes follow the line, and there’s still some red mixed in the coagulated blood, mixing into the carpet. Some of it is the same colour as her burgundy berengaria gown. The aroma of death mixes into the quiet air that’s tinctured with the scent of incense and the smell of musty old books. Other than the trail of blood on the stairs, her home is a place of incredible cleanliness, as uninhabited as a bird's nest in winter.</p><p> </p><p>The encaustic walls are untouched— no blood splatters. Books that she had been reading earlier are still open to where she left them, and no furniture has been moved a single inch. The double oak doors weren't even kicked in.</p><p> </p><p>Curious.</p><p> </p><p>The atmosphere is placid, almost silent, only the sound of non-coagulated blood dripping from the steps hypnotizing her.</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya reaches down, her slender fingers and long black painted nails touching the blood. Immediately, she feels a thrill tingle down her spine, but such a feeling is only natural. It’s her vampiric instincts that makes her bring her finger to her lips. The coppery taste takes a hold of every one of her senses. It excites her, assailing her body with goosebumps and she shivers. </p><p> </p><p>There’s an unfortunate caveat, however.</p><p> </p><p>From the taste alone, she knows exactly whose blood this is.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Matthew. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her vessel, her willing source of blood, her <em> pet. </em> Eye twitching, she slowly begins walking up the stairs, still gazing upon the crimson and brown river on the floor. Time seems to slow, and there’s a gnawing <em> hunger </em>that begins to irritate her. She had only gotten a drop of blood just now, and she begins craving for more. </p><p> </p><p>She reaches the top of the stairs. There’s a massive, majestic stained glass window that filters a low light through the room, low enough that it doesn’t affect her skin. In the middle of the floor, seemingly basking in the light, is the body of a man who was her pet. </p><p> </p><p>Matthew lies in the half-light, utterly still, eyes open as if admiring the heavens. He’s still wearing his dark blue satin robe. One cursory glance is enough to confirm the man is indeed deceased. His lips are blue, skin grey, eyes like those fish she sees in the market— glossy and dark.</p><p> </p><p>And despite now being a corpse dirtying her velvet carpet, he’s still so incredibly handsome, like the saints whose portraits are above the altars that are often in human’s homes. There’s just one vexation that ruins his beatific body.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a wooden stake driven through his chest, directly where his heart is.  </p><p> </p><p>Zakiya sits beside her pet’s lifeless form and strokes back his pure black hair while watching the still seeping blood from his chest begin to coagulate. </p><p> </p><p>She clicks in her tongue in annoyance.</p><p> </p><p>There’s nothing that comes to mind when she thinks about what she could have done to ignite someone’s ire recently. Well, her very existence is enough for some, but she typically makes quick work of them— their corpses typically used as fertilizer for her gardens. It makes her hypothesize that whoever did this is a newcomer, an up and coming hunter who heard of her <em> many </em>triumphs and is cocky enough to think they can waltz in her home without repercussions. Killing Matthew is a threat, obviously. He’s human, a stake through the heart is a message to her… Something that says she’s next.</p><p> </p><p>Threatening her is a novice mistake.</p><p> </p><p>She looks back at Matthew’s once bright eyes. She was fond of him, but not enough to weep his untimely demise. His death is an inconvenience, nothing more, nothing less.</p><p> </p><p>She needs a fresh new blood supply. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The full moon lights her path. This town is still a bubbling hub of activity, and yet its old roads are barely discernible through the flora that had colonized it. The buildings that pepper across the hills are characterized by ostentatious spirals, buttresses and arches— not that she minds, her own estate is the same, but that’s probably because she’s claimed dominion of this town’s cathedral.</p><p> </p><p>Ah. Maybe that’s why there’s a new hunter. Perhaps they’ve hired them to evict her.</p><p> </p><p>How rude. </p><p> </p><p>There’s the sudden sound of frantic footsteps and unnerved gasps. Window shutters are loudly closed when she walks past, and Zakiya hears parents urgently usher those vermin they call children inside. She feels the curious, frightened gazes watch her every move behind doors that are ajar. The humans are quite practiced in the art of hiding from her now, as the town almost seems like it’s been abandoned for years now.</p><p> </p><p>Except for the one lone figure that stands tall and undaunted.</p><p> </p><p>And in her way.</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya narrows her dark maroon eyes. It’s a tall figure, and he would be intimidating to anyone else who isn’t <em> her. </em> The man in front of her wears an inky black coat with a wide brimmed hat that’s pulled down and angled slightly tilted to one side, along with a crossbow in his hand. A <em> very </em>typical vampire hunter silhouette, Zakiya wonders if they all shop at the same place.</p><p> </p><p>He lifts his chin, and she takes notes of his more interesting aspects— he’s <em> handsome. </em>All of his features are sharp and flawless, and his eyes almost seem to pierce her skin. She licks her lips in anticipation, fingers flexing as the atmosphere becomes colder. The man’s gorgeous and well-fitted form is juxtaposed by an egregious, overwhelming killing lust.</p><p> </p><p>He snarls at her, and all she can think of is how his honeyed voice must sound so delicious when he’s whining. And she <em> will </em>make him whine.</p><p> </p><p>“You've the pallor of a corpse, fiend.”</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya has to suppress the urge of letting out an undignified snort.</p><p> </p><p>“An astute observation,” she says primly, lips turning upwards at how he scowls at her so prettily. “I suppose I should thank you for keeping my abode so neat and proper, despite murdering my pet. But must you have killed him to garner my attention? Surely you could have just sent a letter.” Her tone is non-threatening, almost casual, and yet if this hunter is as good as he <em> thinks </em>he is, he would know that his life is in imminent danger. At this point, most people would be trembling, but this man keeps scowling.</p><p> </p><p>She presses her thighs together, a cruel twist playing on her lips. She likes this man already— so confident, so brazen, so <em> stupid. </em> Breaking him will be <em> divine.  </em></p><p> </p><p>The man bristles noticeably, taking a step forward. He’s a fair bit taller than her and it won’t take many steps before he’s looming over her. “Your <em> pet,” </em>he says with a sneer, obviously disgusted and he stops strutting towards her, “Was a disgrace the moment he allowed himself to become enthralled by someone of your ilk.”</p><p> </p><p>With narrowed eyes, he glowers down at her and points his crossbow at her direction. Belatedly, she realizes he reeks of garlic.</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya merely taps her chin as if in thought, unflinching and entirely goading him on with the mirth dancing in her eyes. For a moment, she wonders if this man knew Matthew. She can’t remember if her pet was a hunter as well, something so inconsequential would be easily forgotten in the years she’s had him. Her expression is inscrutable as she continues to taunt the delicious morsel in front of her.</p><p> </p><p>“Your tone is so very pointed. Are you perchance upset? I couldn’t imagine why you would be. I’m the one who had her property damaged.”</p><p> </p><p>Voice laced with venom, he practically yells. </p><p> </p><p>“Your reign of trickery and terror ends tonight! In the name of House Desombre I sentence you to death!”</p><p> </p><p>She’s never even heard of House Desombre, but she’ll be sure to send them some flowers as thanks for sending this prize of a man to her. If only they had gift wrapped him. Pity.</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya makes her move even before he shoots his crossbow. In an instant, her form becomes incorporeal— she transforms into an enveloping greyness as she turns into mist. She swoops down and skirts around the bushes to avoid the silver tipped arrow. She hides for a moment, looming out at the hunter in her whitened haze at the last minute like images from some half forgotten dream.</p><p> </p><p>She strikes, intending to make her arm physical again to grab onto his ankle to thrust him towards the ground. But the man is more quick footed than she gave him credit for, as he pivots and jumps away from her at the last moment, but not before reaching into his long coat to throw a handful of firecrackers at her.</p><p> </p><p>The sudden loud bang of the toy doesn’t phase her, but what <em> is </em> especially annoying is the almost startling amount of light that comes from it. It <em> burns, </em>the pain has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at Zakiya’s stomach. There’s a bout of nausea too, enough to make her return to her human form. </p><p> </p><p>She staggers for a split second, and it’s enough for an opening for the hunter to strike again. The hand that threw the firecrackers now holds a wooden stake, and her heart slows as he brings it down upon her.</p><p> </p><p>Her lips tug upwards.</p><p> </p><p>She’s got him exactly where she wants him— she’d be a piss poor excuse of a vampire if she were to be defeated <em> this </em>easily, and this hasty desire to exploit a momentary stagger on her part is enough to reaffirm her assumption that this man is a novice hunter. He’s moving too quickly— he’s too cocky— and he’s not properly thinking ahead for his attack and underestimating his quarry. It’s such an abecedarian approach to hunting.</p><p> </p><p>He’s such an amateur. Zakiya would even call him <em> cute. </em></p><p> </p><p>Just before he stabs her, she reaches forward with speed that very obviously surprises him, if his widened eyes and now blanched expression is any indication. In a single smooth motion, she grabs his muscular arm, pulling him forward to make him lose his balance. Without allowing him to gather himself, she kicks his legs out from under him.</p><p> </p><p>His hat flies off when he hits the floor with a thud. He lands on his back, and the gasp that escapes him makes it sound like he just got the wind punched out of him. Eyes blown wide, Zakiya sees he’s got delightful sapphire eyes, and for a moment his pupils dilate. Shame about his less than stellar odour of garlic, however. It really kills the mood.</p><p> </p><p>She chortles mockingly at him, quickly reaching down to grab onto his wrist with the stake, with her other hand going to his throat. His crossbow lays uselessly to the side and out of reach, and with a snarl he fruitlessly tries to get her off of him.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, humans, always so adorable in their vain attempts to overpower her.</p><p> </p><p>“I— What?!” He splutters, probably more to himself than to her. Confusion etches into his handsome features as he tries to lift his arm and chest upwards, but fails miserably. Zakiya doesn’t budge, not even when he kicks his legs in a last ditch effort to wrench away from her grasp. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps realizing that she’s going to keep him firmly pressed onto the ground, his free hand forms into a fist and in a quick motion he attempts to uppercut her.</p><p> </p><p>His fist does make contact with the side of her cheek.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, she still doesn’t move.</p><p> </p><p>The punch itself felt like a cat pawing at her, which just further makes her think of the man underneath her as <em> cute, cute, cute. </em></p><p> </p><p>His lips part slightly, expression grimacing sharply as he clearly realizes he’s been completely and utterly overpowered. Zakiya can feel his thunderous heartbeat against her palm. This great pounding, this great pressure; every beat— his growing fear sends a shiver traveling down her spine. She tightens her grip on his neck and wrist, just enough to drive in the point that he’s helpless in his moment, and that she can easily snap his neck at any second.</p><p> </p><p>And, well, she also does it to simply humiliate him.</p><p> </p><p>Her lips curl in a smirk when his face reddens in an embarrassed and frightened flush, and he continues to writhe beneath her. Silly boy, that only serves to excite her further.</p><p> </p><p>She leans down, dark eyes boring into his, and she feels his throat bob. She makes a show to lick her lips, revealing her sharp fangs. Her long midnight black hair drapes over her shoulders, caging him.</p><p> </p><p>“You poor thing. Did your teacher not tell you that vampires such as myself have the strength of at least ten men?” She says, voice full of a mocking joviality, “But perhaps your teacher was simply unaware of that fact. No one who’s gotten close enough to see the true extent of my power has ever lived to tell the tale.”</p><p> </p><p>And yet, a wooden stake of all things is still enough to kill her. Ah, the rules and compromises of her people are so very annoying. But she supposes there are limits to her power in order to make things just a <em> teensy </em>bit fairer for humans. And it does make it a tad more exciting, so she muses that she can’t really complain.</p><p> </p><p>“L-Let—” He swallows heavily, blush becoming deeper at how his voice cracks, “Let me go.”</p><p> </p><p>She quirks a brow at him. “My, are you attempting to command me? And in your current predicament? Surely your teacher must have at least taught you such a tactic won’t prove very successful.”</p><p> </p><p>He scrunches his face in a look of pure distaste, and Zakiya can only think of how much she wants to see him quivering in pleasure as tears run down his face.</p><p> </p><p>“There will come a day where your reign of terror will end. You’ll be flayed alive and burned at the stake, and you’ll be begging for someone to drive a stake in your heart and be granted the sweet release of death. I guarantee it!”</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya snorts. “Your attempts of intimidation, though commendable, is hardly going to be effective if you’re going to be writhing your body like a wanton whore beneath me.”</p><p> </p><p>An almost scandalous gasp comes out of him, and his chest heaves. He bares his teeth as he appears to struggle with a retort. He’s practically burning with humiliation and she almost laughs at the very fact. She narrows her eyes, smirk becoming wider.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps I should take the mantle of teacher. I’ll show you exactly why the people here call me Master,” she whispers lowly, “You’ve several lessons that need to be learnt.”</p><p> </p><p>She releases his throat and he draws in a sharp breath. Before he can properly react to the sudden sliver of freedom, she brings her fist down to the side of his head.</p><p> </p><p>He grunts, though she’d say it sounds <em> suspiciously </em>close to a whine, and his body goes limp. Standing and patting some dirt off her sleeve, Zakiya appraises the unconscious man. Soft wisps of that pale honey hair sweep past an ear, and her eyes take note of every inch of his body. He’s got a strong form, though that much was to be expected. Still, his thighs look particularly delectable even though she doesn’t see any skin.</p><p> </p><p>He’s young. Virile— even with his pathetic struggle to throw her off of him. Still, an overpowering thirst begins to bubble up inside her lower stomach and the muscles in her thighs tighten when she begins to ruminate over how his blood must taste. But she must resist the urge— the first drink must be savoured and coveted— and she’ll be sure to prepare him… lovingly.  </p><p> </p><p>All she had in mind was to get a good looking man and enthrall him under her whim, but to have been gifted a man such as this? Someone who looks as though he’s a marble sculpture that had come alive?</p><p> </p><p>Oh, how lucky she is!</p><p> </p><p>She takes hold of his ankle and begins to drag him towards her cathedral.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll teach him to behave, to be a reverently obedient pet like Matthew was. </p><p> </p><p>Zakiya surmises it’ll take her a week at most to tame him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He looks even better in the nude. He must stay out of the sun as much as she does, his alabaster skin is pale and almost seems to shine.</p><p> </p><p>There’s not a single scar on the perfect canvas that is his body. The only blemish on his pristine skin is the bruise she gave him on his neck. Was she truly his first hunt? Pitiful. His teacher should be ashamed. </p><p> </p><p>Well, no matter. </p><p> </p><p>Zakiya walks around him at a languid pace. He’s still unconscious, though his wrists are chained and tied to the ceiling. When he awakes, he’ll be standing on his toes with his arms above his head and she feels an anticipatory thrum of pleasure at the thought of him struggling with the stance. </p><p> </p><p>They’re in the cellar of the cathedral. She’d lovingly call it her dungeon, but the wooden racks of vintage wine do her no favours. Though she <em> does </em>have a wide array of… particular instruments hanging on the wall, however. It’s a multi-purpose dungeon, then.</p><p> </p><p>Constructed from quarry rock, its walls are thicker than a castle, and its moderated temperatures and lack of sunlight makes it a perfect place for her to enjoy her more lascivious desires.</p><p> </p><p>Behind him, she takes special note of his rippling back muscles, eyes eating up his body as she looks down to the curvature of his toned ass. She makes a mental note to give that part of his body some <em> very </em>special attention. Maybe not tonight, but soon.</p><p> </p><p>She continues pacing, now in front of him again. The sound of the chains rattling signifies him slowly becoming awake. His eyes blink open deliriously, and she watches confusion then realization flicker on his expression. </p><p> </p><p>Then his face quickly becomes red again when he looks down on himself. With renewed energy, he struggles with the golden chain on his wrists that forces his arms to be above his head, his feet barely touching the ground and making his balance look particularly pathetic. Every time he so much as shifts, the chains make echoing noises that seem to go on forever. </p><p> </p><p>When she hums softly, he seems to finally realize he’s not alone.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You—!! You perverted fiend!”</p><p> </p><p>She tilts her head with a smile. “My name is Zakiya. And yours is?”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks disbelievingly at her, and glares. </p><p> </p><p>“Why would I tell a lowly cur such as yourself something like that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because,” she chides, “You’re currently nude and chained to my ceiling after a feeble attempt to assault me. I believe some common courtesy is finally in order.”</p><p> </p><p>He bares his teeth in a snarl, but wisely doesn’t throw out a scathing retort. For a moment, he looks as though he wants to spit at her, but he decides against it. Also wise. Handsome or not, she’s not sure she would have stopped herself from dismembering him if he showed so much disrespect. As the silence continues to linger on, she steps forward— relishing in how he flinches— and takes a hold of one of his nipples and twists.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t suppress the grunt that comes out of him, and she flicks his nipple with a bark of laughter. She runs her hand up and down his body, and soon his blush extends to his shoulders. In a last ditch effort to keep any semblance of dignity, he attempts to kick at her. He hits her leg, but like with the punch, she doesn’t move a single inch. Zakiya pushes a knee between his legs and leans down to lick and tweak his nipple, grazing her teeth against it but not pushing down hard enough to draw any blood.</p><p> </p><p>The chain echoes throughout the dungeon as he struggles and he bends his back, which only spurs her on further. Thrusting his chest towards her might as well be an invitation to continue. A hand slithers down between them, and she grabs a hold of his cock— it’s warm and soft.</p><p> </p><p>“G-Guh!” It’s a muffled whimper, and as pathetic as his attempts to get away, “You insolent little…! How dare… dare you!”</p><p> </p><p>She interrupts him by grabbing onto his cock harder, making his knees buckle. Smiling against his skin, her long fingers scratch him, leaving angry red marks dancing around his body. “Allow me to provide you an erudite elucidation about your current predicament, since you’re clearly a bit of a dullard.” She says, using the opportunity to teasingly lick his chest again.</p><p> </p><p>His body tenses, and he just <em> barely </em>bucks his hips like he’s resisting the urge. Interesting.</p><p> </p><p>“You will be my pet. You will provide me a steady source of blood whenever I feel like imbibing in a drink.” She cranes her neck to look up at him, smirking at his gobsmacked expression, “You should be happy. Positively ecstatic over this, because with you being my pet I will have no reason to go terrorizing the city dwellers. They get to live without fear of me attacking them, and I get to enjoy blood whenever I please.”</p><p> </p><p>His face scrunches up in a look of malcontent, twisting his body against the chains and Zakiya’s free hand moves to his rear. She greedily gropes his supple ass, indenting the flesh, and the <em> squeak </em>that comes out of him sends a strike of pleasure to course through her. By this point, she sees goosebumps form on his skin as she begins to pump her hand up and down his flaccid cock.</p><p> </p><p>“Nngh…” He grinds out, biting his lip to prevent any more embarrassing noises from coming out.</p><p> </p><p>“And you,” she says slowly, eyes narrowing with a heated gaze, “You get to be pampered and spoiled for as long as I have you. It’s a comfortable life, I assure you. Everyone wins.” She blows hot breath against his neck, the bruise looking particularly beautiful in this moment, “Once you begin to kneel and smile willingly, without me forcing you, you’ll be rewarded with such a wonderful life.”</p><p> </p><p>Grimacing, he spits out, “I will never submit to a monster I have dedicated my life in slaying. There will n-never— ugh…” His words die in his throat as she continues to use her hand on his cock with expert precision. He averts his eyes for a moment, burning in shame, but soon looks back at her after swallowing thickly. “There will never be a moment that I won’t have the desire to stick a stake through your heart. You’ll h-have to sleep with one eye o-o-open— nnngh...ffuu…”</p><p> </p><p>His breathing becomes more erratic the more she gives attention to his cock. She can feel it become warmer, and soon both her hands are stroking and caressing his nether region. She parts her lips, allowing a thin string of saliva to fall from her mouth and onto his member.</p><p> </p><p>He throws his head back, groaning through gritted teeth. His cock grows harder in her hands, and soon his skin glistens with sweat.</p><p> </p><p>Men. Such weak creatures.</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya stops her ministrations and takes a step back, watching him shiver violently. His legs tremble, no doubt his muscles beginning to strain from standing on his toes, and he pants as if he had just sprinted a mile. For a split second, his face contorts in a look of displeasure of no longer being touched, but it turns into his usual scowl.</p><p> </p><p>Nonchalantly, she rummages in her loose gown sleeve and produces a small sewing needle.</p><p> </p><p>His toned and strained muscles, and the sweat slowly falling from his body, along with the humiliated flush…</p><p> </p><p>It’s time now.</p><p> </p><p>She’s too <em> thirsty. </em>He’s such a sight to behold, but the sensation bubbling inside her has grown quite unbearable. It’s a thirst like she has never known before, even when she didn’t have a pet she had never been assailed by such a feeling. Even Zakiya’s saliva is thick like wallpaper paste. Her throat feels parched as if the skin has been extracted and laid out in the scorching sun to dry. It gnaws at her, and a slick of arousal drips out of her folds.</p><p> </p><p>This is the most excited she’s ever been to taste someone’s blood.</p><p> </p><p>Without looking at his face, she pricks the skin between his nipples. There’s a small, pitiful whine, but everything sounds so muffled she focuses entirely on the thin ruby rivulet that slowly drips out of him. It’s a single drop, and she trails her finger against it. She takes a moment to stare at her bloodied finger tip, a distinct feeling of euphoria clouding her mind.</p><p> </p><p>She puts her finger between her lips and sucks. The burning sensation in her throat grows more when she tastes the coppery blood on her tongue. The single drop traces its way inside her mouth, she savours it. Thick saliva lines her cheeks, immediately sapping any moisture that may enter.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone’s blood tastes the same, and yet, completely different. There’s something about it that… makes it as unique as a fingerprint. Zakiya can’t properly explain it, nor does she really understand it, but each time she tastes blood she just <em> knows </em>who it belongs to. </p><p> </p><p>She flutters her eyes shut and sighs happily. There’s a tingle running up and down her spine, and she feels herself become more wet.</p><p> </p><p>Feeling completely energized and ready for <em> so </em>much more, she opens her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” She says with a lopsided smirk.</p><p> </p><p>His cock is harder than how she left him.</p><p> </p><p><em> Interesting, </em> she finds herself thinking once more <em> . </em></p><p> </p><p>“Foul beast,” the man grits out, but she pays him no mind. Keeping her gaze on his cock, she reaches forward to prick just below one of his nipples. When she breaks the skin, she sees his cock twitch noticeably.</p><p> </p><p>She speaks with laughter in her tone, “How fascinating. This certainly changes things,” She takes the needle out of him, and trails it against his delicate skin and his breathing becomes heavier, “I was so focused on pinning you down I didn’t notice if you enjoyed it. But from this reaction I can only surmise that you <em> did.” </em> Zakiya grins, all teeth, eyes hungry. “Suddenly everything makes more sense. Could it be that the reason you chose <em> me </em>of all people to hunt was because you knew you would fail? Did you kill my pet because you were jealous that you weren’t in his position? My, such a smart plan. Now you’ve got what you wanted.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives a curt shake of his head, scowling, though something about it makes it seem theatrical “D-Don’t delude yourself with such fantasies, fiend.”</p><p> </p><p>Cocking her head to the side, Zakiya takes a hold of his penis again. She appreciates how well endowed he is, thinking of how delightful it’ll be whenever she decides to have him inside of her. But that’s a privilege he’ll have to earn first.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she holds it up—</p><p> </p><p>Then brings her needle down, lining it up directly in front of his urethra.</p><p> </p><p>In an instant, his voice is filled with panic and his body shakes. </p><p> </p><p>“Wa—Wait, s-stop—”</p><p> </p><p>She continues looking at his defenseless cock. “Your name.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a tense, suspended moment of pure silence. She can feel his fear, causing her to grow more aroused by the second. Her lower body feels like it’s burning, overwhelmed with the desire for her to violate this man until he sees stars.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t say anything, instead opting to pant worriedly.</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya brings the needle closer.</p><p> </p><p>“A-A-Athan!! M-My name is Athan!”</p><p> </p><p>Her chuckle is a low bellow that comes from her stomach. She doesn’t have any desire to actually engage in genital mutilation, it’s not something that arouses her, but she finds it’s always a condusive way to get what she wants. She takes a glance at his face— debauched, terrorized and with a <em> hint </em>of amativeness. </p><p> </p><p>She changes her mind. It won’t take the entire week to mould this man into her new pet, it’ll merely take the weekend.</p><p> </p><p>Lavishing her tongue against his second tiny wound, the taste of blood overpowers all other senses. The feeling is infinitely stronger than Matthew’s blood, as if she were drinking an aphrodisiac. With her hand still on his cock, she continues to puncture random parts of his skin with the needle. Soon, his body is littered with small red dots and Zakiya eagerly licks at him while stroking his cock.</p><p> </p><p>She continues this for several agonizing minutes. Agonizing for her new pet, anyhow.</p><p> </p><p>With every little prick, his member seems to become harder and warmer.</p><p> </p><p>And then there’s the miserable whining.</p><p> </p><p>“A-Aaah… uuu…”</p><p> </p><p>“Athan,” she chides, teeth grazing his nipple before she licks near the base of his neck. “Athan, Athan, Athan. Surely you knew the moment I pinned you down that resistance was futile. Just accept it and,” her voice becomes no more than a whisper and as she stares into his bright yet terrified eyes she can tell she’s beginning to have him enthralled. Such an easy man, “You’ll live a life of luxury. I won’t let you out of my sight— That was a mistake I’ve learned from poor little Matthew. I’ll protect you.”</p><p> </p><p>He gasps. “I’ll— I’ll never fall for your w-wicked lies…”</p><p> </p><p>“But it’s no lie. I take good care of my pets. Surely you saw how well fed and pampered Matthew was? I even go as far as to give him the finest silks and satin to wear.”</p><p> </p><p>She traces his abs with the needle, lightly pricking the skin of his stomach. She takes the droplet of blood with her finger and sucks on it, her other hand continuing to almost lovingly caress his cock. Athan’s entire body spasms, and she feels the warmth of his pre-cum beginning to seep out of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Your body desires to become my pet.” Zakiya steps away, and his body quivers at the loss of touch. Easy, easy, <em> easy. </em>How can a man so simple be the most fun she’s had in ages?! She can’t get enough of this!</p><p> </p><p>She’ll have him kneeling in no time. When she decides to not have him chained, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Taking one of her favourite toys, she returns to standing in front of him. In her dainty and prim hands are nipple clamps connected with a chain. For a brief moment, Athan’s tongue hands slovenly from his mouth, and drool pours from his lips. Perhaps reminding himself that he’s not quite a dog— <em> yet </em>— he tightens his expression. It’s not quite his usual scowl, but it’s a commendable attempt. He can’t quite hide his lust, and Zakiya intends to exploit that fact.</p><p> </p><p>With a feather light touch and a playful glint in her eyes, she pinches one of his nipples with the clamp.</p><p> </p><p>Athan buckles his hips, stomach muscles going taut like he’s just been punched. An unintelligible groan comes out of him when she clamps the next nipple, and she lightly tugs at the chain connecting the two clamps— making Athan arch his back like a bow. His leg muscles are obviously straining from standing in such an awkward position for so long, if how they tremble like a leaf is anything to go by. His sweat mixes with his blood, and the heat in Zakiya’s groin only continues to burn brighter.</p><p> </p><p>After a few experimental tugs, and some truly whorish gasps on Athan’s part, she steps closer to pull the chain upwards— towards his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>He presses his lips into a thin line, eyes scornful but there’s also cracks in his facade. She’s never seen a man so obviously want something, and yet fight with himself so much. It makes her chuckle softly under her breath, and at his continuous and fickle resistance she narrows her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Need I hover the needle above your cock aga—”</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya barks out a small <em> ‘Hah!’ </em> when he opens his mouth obediently. <em> My, young men really do learn fast. </em></p><p> </p><p>She puts the chain in his mouth and he, just as obediently, closes his mouth around it. It’s not an especially long chain, so when she steps back to have a good look at his defiled body, she can see the clamps just <em> straining </em>to keep his swollen and red nipples in their jaws. If he were to move his head too fast and suddenly, the clamps would likely slip off. Zakiya wonders if she should punish him if that were to happen.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmmph, ffgh—”</p><p> </p><p>He makes more lewd noises that soon becomes part of the symphony of the chains rattling above their heads. After having one more lick at one of his puncture wounds, Zakiya throws the needles to the side and grabs a hold of his cock with both of her hands. She skillfully strokes his glans by wrapping her fingers around it, lavishing his pre-cum and more spit around his shaft.</p><p>She feels him throbbing under the palm of her hands. As she continues to move her hands up and down his cock, she lays her head against his broad chest. That, coupled with his panting, the drool dripping from his lips, his strained nipples, and how he shivers— all gives Zakiya a sense of perversion she had never felt before. She presses her thighs together, biting her lower lip as she begins to grind against one of his legs.</p><p> </p><p>Athan makes no move to get away from her, instead he positions himself in a way where she has easier access to his thigh, so she can grind on him more effectively.</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t expecting that. His movements were almost causal— <em> instinctual— </em>and the fact he did it seemingly so willingly feels like an electric shock of pleasure and surprise. She continues stroking him, while chasing after her own bliss as she rubs herself against him. </p><p> </p><p>“Nnhh...Mmngh...fh...fh...” Athan’s unfaltering stream of obscene whines and moans with the chain in his beautiful mouth stokes Zakiya’s lust even more. </p><p> </p><p>Everything smells so musky. Certainly much better than that foul odour of garlic.</p><p> </p><p>She cups his balls after a moment. She squeezes, but it’s nothing that can cause serious pain.</p><p> </p><p>Though it’s enough to make Athen practically keel over, the chains holding his arms up obviously prevent him from outright falling to the ground. When he tries to stand upright on his toes again, the movement is enough to make one of the clamps come off. The small, whiny <em> ‘Mmhhngh’ </em>that comes out of Athan is enough to make Zakiya laugh. She slaps at his chest, her hand landing directly on the recently freed nipple, and Athan nearly keels over again.</p><p> </p><p>Honestly, she’s impressed he’s still holding the chain in his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>She puts the clamp back on him, but not before pinching at one of the spots she pricked with a needle to get another droplet of blood.</p><p> </p><p>Then she continues to grind on his thigh, and her hands return to stroking his cock.</p><p> </p><p>As the tortuous minutes pass, Athan’s quivers and shakes become more violent. His whole body is red, every muscle straining and every inch of skin glistening with sweat. The chain with the clamps and one shackling his wrists echo and jostle, and Athan’s continuous whimpers and whines tell her he’s quickly getting closer to the edge.</p><p> </p><p>His chorus of debased noises is joined by her laughter. The more he trembles, the more jovial she becomes, becoming red in her own face as elation overtakes her.</p><p> </p><p>“Go ahead! Release your lust, and become my pet!”</p><p> </p><p>With a howl, Athan’s semen bursts from the tip of his cock, landing on her hands, her gown, and on his stomach. Zakiya’s fingers continue to skillfully stroke his ejaculating member, wringing out every drop. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, let it all out,” she cooes in the midst of her laughter, her own cunt clenching down as she’s assailed by a wave of her own pleasure. Every second that Athan shakes like a newborn fawn only adds to her bliss and she, too, begins to tremble.</p><p> </p><p>Unable to control herself further, Zakiya reaches forward to bite down on his clavicle. Her sharp fangs sink into his fragile skin, and the accompanying blood that invades her mouth makes her feel unimaginably giddy and her toes curl in response. She shakes with her own orgasm, eagerly sucking his fresh, young blood.</p><p> </p><p>Athan’s body jerks as he finishes ejaculating, Zakiya releases him from her mouth, and glances upwards.</p><p> </p><p>His nipples are still clamped, and he’s got the chain in his mouth. His gaze is dazed, exhausted, and with a hint of pure bliss. </p><p> </p><p>Her grin turns almost maniacal. </p><p> </p><p>And she continues to move her hand up and down his cock, the same way she had just moments before. His body jerks in response, and there’s a sharp tug on his restraints. The sensitivity of still being stimulated after cumming makes him spasm uselessly.</p><p> </p><p>She can hear his teeth clatter against the chain in his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya teases the tip of his cock with a single finger, and her other hand moves to scratch at his thighs. He squirms, pained grunts escaping his chapped lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Nnngh…!”</p><p> </p><p>The look of panic that flickers in his eyes sends goosebumps down her body. Her finger now trails aimlessly on his abdomen, and she feels his body contract as she relentlessly teases his overly sensitive and still throbbing cock. A low laugh escapes her when she sees tears begin to form at the corner of his eyes— and she simply thinks this is the most beautiful she’s ever seen a man.</p><p> </p><p>She bites him on the clavicle again, and she grips his cock hard enough as if to say, <em> ‘this belongs to me now.’ </em></p><p> </p><p>Athan flinches and arches his back, like he’s leaning into the stinging pain her fangs no doubt gives him. He’s begging for it, begging to be overtaken and owned. She rolls her hips back and forth, grinding as she pleased and using him as if he were a toy.</p><p> </p><p>Every nerve in her body is all aflame, her tongue traces over his chest and wounds— her eyes filled with nothing but provocation and mockery. Her hand, coated with saliva and cum, slides across his shaft easily.</p><p> </p><p>She increases her pace, and she twists her wrist.</p><p> </p><p>Convulsing like a man possessed, Athan throws his head back, groaning like a dying animal. The action causes the clamps to be ripped off his pained nipples, and his abdomen tenses. He parts his mouth and the clatter of the nipple clamps falling to the floor echoes in the cold, damp dungeon. </p><p> </p><p>“G-Guh…! Haah… I-I’m g-going to… d-die…” He wails, voice going up an octave as the tears spill from his eyes. His whimpering is punctuated with her chuckling.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll be fine,” she says, tone full of mirth and her hand not slowing its pace, no matter how he writhes. “I said I take good care of pets, did I not? You’ll be pampered for doing so well.”</p><p> </p><p>Her free hand continues to scratch at him, her fingers playing against his exhausted muscles. Clamps now gone, she takes the opportunity to bite his nipples. Athan’s eyes roll back, no longer able to make a comprehensible sound— it’s all whimpers and moans of pain.</p><p> </p><p>Then, in an action that surprises her, he looks down and—</p><p> </p><p>Smiles, widely. His brows are still creased in pain, but the curl in his lips is unmistakable. It’s borderline delirious, and with seemingly one last bout of strength he pulls on his shackles to lift himself up, and he wraps his legs around Zakiya’s waist. Face covered in drool, snot, and tears, he speaks; voice laced with the same delirium that shows on his expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-Y-You’re right—!!” He pants out, “I was so— so, so jealous. T-That f-f-fucking Matthew…. Didn’t… ngh… a-aah…. didn’t deserve y-you…”</p><p> </p><p>The sudden movement had surprised Zakiya enough that she stopped stroking him, and her hands now cup his ass to keep her balance. Athan’s body relaxes noticeably, no longer needing to be supported by just his toes or tortured by being teased in his most sensitive area. Zakiya lifts a single questioning brow, and he continues babbling on.</p><p> </p><p>“H-He didn’t d-deserve you…. Ugh… S-So I… I trained… a-and… trained… so y-you would… haah… so you would punish me!”</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya continues to listen to him, her own smile growing. Whether she’s already broken and enthralled him, she’s not sure. He could be saying this to get out of her never-ending stimulation, and maybe he’s trying to catch her off guard so he can try something stupid.</p><p> </p><p>Regardless of his intentions, he is putting on such a lovely expression. The pure, unabashed desperation is almost enough to make her cum again.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I’ll be the b-best… p-p-pet ever! So much b-better than—”</p><p> </p><p>“You did well,” she says, and Athan clamps his mouth shut with an audible click. “Perhaps I’ll reward you with a whipping later tonight.” His smile doesn’t falter from what she says, which makes her further curious on whether he’s actually serious about all this. He lets out a low, rough groan, and Zakiya decides she needs to wash her now stained gown.</p><p> </p><p>She pries herself away from him. It doesn’t take much, as immediately Athan’s body goes limp and hangs from the chain, eyes fluttering shut like he’s about to become unconscious. His expression is drunk off euphoria, intermingled with a look of pain and fear. </p><p> </p><p>Giving his cock a light tap, she chuckles at how intensely he recoils.</p><p> </p><p>It’s been a good evening, Zakiya decides. Productive.</p><p> </p><p>She begins to leave, the only sounds in the dungeon being her footsteps and his wanton panting.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe once she returns, she’ll give him a treat. A confection of some kind. She was always partial towards strawberry cakes herself.</p><p> </p><p>She should bring him a little something. After all, she pampers her pets.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Zakiya’s holds the wine glass in her frigid fingers, her nails forming a wall without mortar. She never holds it by the stem, instead opting to cup the glass in her right hand as one might drink water from a clear river. She breathes slowly, enjoying the peace and quiet.</p><p> </p><p>The fireplace provides a flickering light in the room, the embers small enough to not irritate her in any way. Though the air isn't smokey she can smell the pine as it burns, making her sigh comfortably.</p><p> </p><p>Soon there’s a rustling, then a light set of footsteps going over the carpet. </p><p> </p><p>Zakiya finds herself smiling. “Athan,” she says, “I hope you’ve had a good rest.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s been a week since she’s claimed him. Now, her pet wears a blue satin robe. He’s well-groomed, fit, and most of all— perfectly content in embracing his submissive nature. He had been sleeping in a pile of blankets and pillows in one corner of the room, having become tired after finishing his domestic duties.</p><p> </p><p>She eyes him hungrily. Perhaps she, too, has become enthralled— she doesn’t let him out of her sight just as she said she would. Every waking moment is spent thinking of him, and her heart feels… warm, whenever she looks at him. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t feel this way with Matthew, who’s such a far, distant memory now. Or any of her other pets. She just wants her precious Athan, for as long as his mortal life will allow him. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps Athan’s blood was truly an aphrodisiac. </p><p> </p><p>Athan blushes under her gaze, shyly looking down. His hand grazes over his collar, a constant reminder of her ownership over him. Fluttering his eyes, he takes off his robe. It falls to the floor, and she licks her lips at the sight of her most recent bite marks on his shoulder blades, then appreciates the rest of his nude body. </p><p> </p><p>“Master,” he says lovingly and then meets her eyes again. “I would be honoured if I could be allowed to give you a foot massage.”</p><p> </p><p>Zakiya nods, hiking up her gown up to her knees.</p><p> </p><p>He kneels and smiles. Just the way she likes it.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Was Athan actually a jealous boy who murdered Matthew and acted as a vampire hunter to get Zakiya's attention? Was this a story of two yanderes realizing their twisted love for each other? Who knows!</p><p>Also, I'm realizing more and more how much I like men's nipples...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. You're The Pulse In My Veins (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by bbyboijungkook - A prostitute struggling to make ends meet gets a client who's, well, rich as fuck. </p><p>Includes: Prostitution (duh, lol), a piss poor attempt at humour, cunnilingus. There's very little smut in this, as it's mostly build-up for the second part.</p><p>Pegging will be in the next part. This thing just became so big so I figured I'd make it 2 chapters. Maybe 3, depending on how little self-control I have lol.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>His own apartment has the air of a fucking morgue. It’s quiet and claustrophobic, despite the fact he sold most of his furniture weeks ago. The only thing that gives his room a bit of pizazz is probably the gaming posters, but they’re losing their colour from age and flaking off the wall. They’re posters of games he had played growing up— stories he had spent countless hours  enjoying, and were at times his one only reprieve when life got… pretty shitty.</p><p> </p><p>Calix rubs his forehead. Those games and consoles— pretty much his only hobby, thank you very much— they’re all gone now. Sold along with the furniture. Really the only thing he has left is the mattress, his clothes, and the phone in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>But he’s got a roof over his head. For now, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>His heart twists and sinks with nerves as he sits in the corner of the room, phone in front of him. All he needs to do is check the current balance in his bank account. Which also happens to consistently be the worst part of his week. Checking this… might as well be the confirmation that he is, indeed, a body in a morgue. The hand not holding the phone presses into the skin of his forearms, nails biting in his pale skin.</p><p> </p><p>Eyes closed and aimed towards his clasped hand slowly begin to open. Trepidation swells through Calix as he raises his eyes to the steadily shining screen.</p><p> </p><p>He only needs a second long glance. </p><p> </p><p>Hand tightening over the phone, he has to suppress the sudden and violent urge to throw the fucking thing across the room.</p><p> </p><p><em> Rent’s coming up, </em> he thinks bitterly, <em> and you don’t have enough to pay for it. Again. </em></p><p> </p><p>He’s not quite sure why he expects literally anything else whenever he checks how little money he has left. It’s always the same routine, with rent being the ball and chain that keeps him shackled to that one alleyway.</p><p> </p><p>Sighing through his nose, he begins rummaging through his clothes, picking out his best outfits. ‘His best’ of course being pants that are far too tight, and a jacket without a shirt. At the very least he can still keep his physique even after his gym membership was revoked because he couldn’t pay for it. </p><p> </p><p>Calix uses his phone’s camera to practice his smile. It’s got to be a winning one— it’s what gets his clients in bed with him, after all.</p><p> </p><p>He ignores how his eyes look so devoid of life.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Calix keeps checking his hair with his camera phone. It’s coiffed with a shiny blackness, and a good chunk of the money he gets goes into body care products— so he better look fucking good. Some of his clients like to comment about how he apparently looks like some K-pop Idol they know, which is vaguely insulting because if he were <em> so </em> handsome why doesn’t someone hire him to do some modeling gig already?! But nooooo, everyone would rather sleep with him instead. <em> Ugh. </em></p><p> </p><p>He shifts on his sheet, feeling slightly uncomfortable because of the tightness of his pants. It’s an annoying necessity, since his clients quite like how it shows an outline of his cock. He shivers slightly, not wearing a shirt under his open jacket so his abs are on display. It’s a bit chilly tonight, and the buildings are tight together and loom over him, like a forest of stone. When he looks up the roofs are so close together that he can only make out a sliver of the evening sky that is mirrored by the tiny stream of light that trickles along the cold stone ground. The alleyway twists and turns back on itself, first going to the right, then to the left. From where Calix stands, whether he looks in front or behind, he sees nothing but brick and stone.</p><p> </p><p>And other prostitutes. All men, all in skimpy outfits that absolutely aren’t weather appropriate.</p><p> </p><p>This area is basically an unofficial red light district, which works well enough for him since it attracts plenty of women to seek out certain… services. Calix looks at some of the other men, seeing Henry— a guy that likes to fashion himself as the boss of this district and with the physique to intimidate anyone into not questioning his self-imposed rules. He’s the number one whore, if you will. Which is annoying since he demands that for you be able to work in his ‘territory,’ you’ve got to give him some of your pay. Usually, Calix tries to fuck off back home once he finishes with a client to avoid Henry demanding money. Once he’s out of the district he’s good, since Henry can’t actually enforce anything. Honestly, fuck that guy.</p><p> </p><p>The night continues on. Whenever a woman so much as strolls into the alleyway there’s a bunch of whores who pretty much accost her. Calix isn’t one of them— he waits for the number of prostitutes to slowly dwindle so he doesn’t have to fight over getting a client. Soon it’ll just be him and he’ll happily— well, mostly begrudgingly— take any woman that introduces herself to him. And rarely, like once every blue moon rare, he’ll get the occasional male client. Which is kind of impressive in and of itself since men never have that kind of money. Except when they’re idols, apparently.</p><p> </p><p>The lampposts cast his shadow like black over deepest charcoal, and Calix idly does some shadow puppets. Maybe he should make more of an effort to approach his clients but he can’t really be assed right now.</p><p> </p><p>So he makes due with fiddling with his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Then there’s the sound of… <em> something. </em></p><p> </p><p>Something that sounds suspiciously like a car.</p><p> </p><p>Wait a minute.</p><p> </p><p>Calix stops himself from making a shadow dog to look at the bright red car that seemingly materialized in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What the— </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The hell? This is an alleyway, right? He didn’t just wander off to the street without him realizing it, did he? Quickly looking side to side, he sees other men look at him with both confusion and envy, and he realizes he’s still where he was standing.</p><p> </p><p>This person brought a car in an alleyway that it barely fits in. No one ever brings a car here! How did this fucker manage to turn in all the corners?!</p><p> </p><p>Not just any car, this was clearly a beast that sneers at speed limits. Looking at it more closely, this is a goddamn ferrari. One of the newer models, too, something he knows since on some nights Calix looks up overly expensive cars he’ll never be able to afford to just imagine himself driving them because he’s a sad sack of shit, dammit!</p><p> </p><p>Oh fuck, now he’s getting jealous.</p><p> </p><p>Clearing his throat awkwardly, he approaches the tinted window of the passenger side. Sure, bringing the car here is a little weird, and probably a bit of a power play, but it stopped by him. That’s gotta mean something. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.</p><p> </p><p>And whoever is in there has to be <em> loaded.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Yeah, he can’t let this opportunity pass.</p><p> </p><p>The window begins to go down and Calix feels adrenaline coursing through his veins, feeling like every fiber of his being was vibrating with anticipation. The woman at the steering wheel is willowy with a face cut right from the pages of a men's magazine. His eyes are immediately drawn to the black curls of hair that gently caresses its way down her neck, reaching to just below her shoulder blades. Then he makes eye-contact and he suddenly feels like he’s lost in a maze.</p><p> </p><p>Shit. She’s hot.</p><p> </p><p>Out of habit his eyes fall to her hands to look for rings. There’s none.</p><p> </p><p>Her voice brings his eyes back towards her face, her voice smooth as honey. </p><p> </p><p>“You looked so bored doing shadow puppets. Figured I’d come along and make your evening a little more exciting.”</p><p> </p><p>Calix swallows, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands so he rests them on the car door. “Uh, yeah.” He says lamely. <em> Shit!! </em> He’s supposed to be selling himself here, he’s supposed to have swagger and pizazz! <em> Seduce her, you idiot! </em></p><p> </p><p>He rolls his shoulders, giving her a smoldering smirk. He tells himself it’s smoldering, anyway. It might be cracked with nervousness but he deftly ignores the possibility.</p><p> </p><p>“Must be pretty bored yourself, sticking your car in here for little ol’ me.” He winks, “We can make each other’s evening more exciting. For the right price, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>She beckons a manicured hand towards him, “Come on inside.” Her feminine voice becomes husky, and years of experience has taught Calix that this woman was probably looking forward to a moment like this for a while. For whatever reason, she hasn’t had a good fuck in a while and now here she is, choosing <em> him </em>. </p><p> </p><p>That hopefully means a bigger tip.</p><p> </p><p>For a second, he hesitates entering the car. He’s entered a stranger’s vehicle countless times before, but he’s yet to shake off that small bout of anxiety that attacks him whenever he needs to do his damn job. Sometimes it gets bad enough that it turns off a client and he misses an opportunity— not like he can afford to pay for anxiety meds anymore.</p><p> </p><p>He ignores his beating heart, and quickly gets inside.</p><p> </p><p>The leather seats are softer than he thought, and while the car is only idling Calix can already feel the power of the car. It’s warm too, with heated seats. The engine hums as the woman begins to drive and soon, they’re cruising down the street. The woman gazes straight ahead and strokes the steering wheel; and there’s classical music playing very softly from the radio.</p><p> </p><p>He really should initiate conversation. Y’know, seduction and all that since that’s what he’s here for, and yet he can’t help but keep staring at her like a hawk.</p><p> </p><p>The woman breaks the silence before he does. “I’m Athena. And you?”</p><p> </p><p>He thinks he’s heard this name before, but he doesn’t have time to think about it.</p><p> </p><p>“Calix.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to meet you,” she responds, voice as light as air and he feels like he’s becoming lightheaded already, “Now, is there anything you don’t do?”</p><p> </p><p>Pursing his lips into a thin line, he tries to relax his posture so that he doesn’t come off as so standoffish. He’d really prefer not to get kicked out for killing the goddamn mood. His lips curl into a small smirk. </p><p> </p><p>“I do anything for the right price.” There’s a great many things he doesn’t <em> want </em>to do, but his feelings are never relevant when with a client.</p><p> </p><p>Athena hums lowly, tapping the steering wheel with a perfect finger.</p><p> </p><p>“Then, what do you like?”</p><p> </p><p><em> Money, </em>though he stops himself from saying that. He leans back, hoping to look a bit coy as he throws the question back at her.</p><p> </p><p>“What do <em> you </em>like? You’re the one paying here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Kissing.”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks, momentarily taken aback as he wonders if he’s heard her wrong. She glances at him with a small smile, and he feels his face beginning to warm.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh my god, get a grip you idiot! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Y-Yeah,” he stutters out, becoming more embarrassed, “I can do kissing just fine.” Holy shit, what’s happening here? How is he getting so flustered? That’s not his usual gig. Sure, he’s never been much of a ladykiller, but come on!! He’s acting like this is the first time he’s done this!</p><p> </p><p>She raises the volume of the radio, and the classical music shifts into jazz. Her gentle humming fills the car, her dulcet tones creating a wordless melody. </p><p> </p><p>“I quite like jazz,” she says, “I find it calms me down. It’s soothing,” she grins, “Sweet as honey pie.”</p><p> </p><p>Calix finds himself blinking owlishly again. Barely anything has been happening, and yet this is the weirdest ride he’s ever had. Usually at this point he and his client would be grinding on each other, grabbing onto anything they can, rough hands claiming him and flattening him against the wall with Calix inevitably getting his goddamn clothes ripped apart— this always annoyed him because <em> shit costs money, dammit. </em>He doesn’t want to think of those women that would be… considerably rougher than others. He doesn’t want to think about the last time he got into someone’s car he got punched directly on the nose. </p><p> </p><p>Before he realizes it, the beat and rhythm of the jazz song makes him lightly tap his feet and bob his head. </p><p> </p><p>...This woman has put a strange spell on him. It’s the only rationalization he can think of. </p><p> </p><p>“Regular sex is $250 an hour.” He says, mostly in an attempt to distract himself. For a moment, he regrets not making the price higher, because there’s no way this woman wouldn’t be able to afford it. Selling himself, as well as this weird vibe he’s feeling right now, all mixes in together and gives him a weird and uncomfortable sensation in his gut. Now a part of him just wants this whole thing to be over.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck, he hopes he makes enough with just her so he doesn’t have to go back to the alleyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Oral is an added $75 for every…” his voice tapers off as he mulls it over, “Every fifteen minutes.” He really needs to start having a fixed price for this shit, but he finds that he needs to constantly flip flop with prices because clients always try to haggle with him. “Weird shit varies. Stuff like pegging is $450 an hour.”</p><p> </p><p>Athena chuckles under her breath, and he can feel goosebumps form on his skin, despite the fact he feels <em> very </em>warm.</p><p> </p><p>“Pegging is weird, then?” She says, smile evident in her voice.</p><p> </p><p>Calix shrugs half-heartedly. “Not really, I guess. I do it often enough that it’s part of my routine, but it usually hurts like hell. So I need to amp up the price to make it worth it.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Goddammit Calix, that wasn’t coy or funny or seductive at all. You’re supposed to fill the air with chemistry! Arrrgh!! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His leg bounces in annoyance, meanwhile Athena wrinkles her nose. </p><p> </p><p>“It really shouldn’t hurt,” she says, “When done correctly, anyway. I’m sorry to hear your clients apparently haven’t been doing their research. People really ought to be more cognizant and considerate of the people they sleep with.”</p><p> </p><p>He opens his mouth, then closes. Deciding he doesn’t really want to look like a gaping fish, he waves a hand vaguely in the air and gropes for an appropriate response. Something <em> smooth, </em> something <em> cool, </em> something <em> that gets me that fucking loaded cheque oh yeah— </em></p><p> </p><p>She speaks again, and Calix has to suppress the sudden and violent urge to punch himself in the face for missing an opportunity. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, we’re here. I do hope you enjoy the view,” she says with a sly wink.</p><p> </p><p>Not wanting to continue looking like a complete dumbass, Calix gets out of the car with her, and then realizes they’re on a hill overseeing the city. In the far distance, the silhouette of the skyline pierced through the warm glow like a jagged mountain ridge. Millions of lights caused the dense mass of skyscrapers glitter. </p><p> </p><p>They’re at a lover’s lane, he realizes a second later.</p><p> </p><p>A body presses into his side, and he idly thinks about how Athena is of similar height to him. Her sleek black coat with golden buttons goes to her knees, and her nylon stockings hug her thin legs.</p><p> </p><p>His head feels light.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. Shit. He’s outside and yet it’s getting hotter and stuffier by the minute. Calix shuffles around to look her in the eyes. <em> Don’t fuck this up, </em> he reminds himself, <em> You need that rent money. You’re only like this because you’re nervous about her not paying you. Yeah. That’s it.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I said I like kissing,” Athena’s soft voice takes him out of his daze, “You’re fine with that, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” Calix fumbles, averting his gaze to look haphazardly around instead, and now he feels like he's watching a train crash in horrific slow motion. Looking back, Athena’s tilting her head with a questioning gaze. For the umpteenth time, his mind is screaming at him to get his fucking shit together. “Kissing is part of the regular sex price.”</p><p> </p><p>Then, his brain lights up in an epiphany. Maybe this woman wants him to pretend to be her boyfriend for the night. She <em> did </em>just bring him to a lover’s lane which is certainly more than literally any other client has ever done. They just fuck him against a wall or in some dinky hostel room, and leave. He’s sold his body, but he’s never sold the illusion of love before. </p><p> </p><p>In the back of head, his mind unhelpfully supplies an annoying thought of Athena being a serial killer and her bringing him to some secluded and isolated area to kill him. His brow twitches in his annoyance, intimately aware his face is a blistering red from embarrassment of being a fumbling idiot. </p><p> </p><p>Satisfied with the thought that he’s a nervous wreck because this woman probably wants him to act a part he’s never played before— <em> and not kill me, dammit!— </em> he contorts his lips to a toothy smile that he hopes is relaxed, but his cheeks are not so compromising. He can feel their reluctance to be moulded so falsely.</p><p> </p><p>The train he imagined crashing moments ago is back on its tracks regardless with how awkward he feels. He’s got to get this show going. This train’s got a destination and he’s gotta get there.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m great at kissing,” he says, voice husky, “My exes don’t call me Cherry Lips for nothing. I’ll have you know I’ve got nothing but rave reviews for my lips. Some might say I’ve got bonafide talent— maybe even born for this.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s <em> good </em> at what he does, dammit! A professional! Despite his bout of nervousness he has to be self-assured in his <em> talents. </em> Sure, no one’s actually called him Cherry Lips before— <em> Why did I choose that nickname of all things? Oh my god, it sounds so fucking awful. I’d demand my money back if a whore called themselves that— </em>but he needs his confidence to ooze off him to rectify the deplorable atmosphere he’s been giving off.</p><p> </p><p>Athena narrows her eyes, almost playfully— <em> okay, good. That’s a good sign. Just kiss her silly, get her so riled up, so she forces me down on my knees or whatever. Show her what that tongue can do—!! </em></p><p> </p><p>But first things first.</p><p> </p><p>“I need my payment up front. Or just some of it, like a down payment.”</p><p> </p><p>Athena blinks, like attempting to dispel dust from her eyes. “Oh yes, of course. My apologies.”</p><p> </p><p>What happens next makes Calix feel like he’s got a fire burning under his ass cause <em> woah— </em>Athena just casually takes out a massive fucking wad of cash out of her pocket. Treating it like it’s a measly 20 dollar bill, she hands it over. This is— this alone is already enough to pay his month’s rent and then some. He doubts he can even fit this shit in his own pocket.</p><p> </p><p>Alright. Okay.</p><p> </p><p><em> Now </em> he’s fucking motivated to sweep this woman off her feet. That awkward tension? His general dumbassery? Poof. Gone. The train is firmly, immovably, securely, rigidly, resolutely— whatever else he can think of when he reads a thesaurus later— on those tracks and it’s going, going, going! <em> Choo choo motherfucker let’s get this goddamn money!! </em></p><p> </p><p>Taking the money, and of course fumbling around with it since <em> hello, yes this is the most money a client has ever given me can I have a bucket to take this home with me? </em> Calix opts to just sort of… awkwardly throw it onto the car’s passenger seat. He’ll deal with it later.</p><p> </p><p>He scoots off from the car, back straight in full confidence and a strut like a peacock because turns out getting a fat stack of cash really is the biggest confidence booster a man can get. Okay, so this woman is now his favourite person on earth and he intends to suck—<em> lick? </em>— her funds dry tonight. The only thing that can ruin this is Athena springing up some god awful kink on him. But she looks like a well adjusted lady, so hopefully no weird shit.</p><p> </p><p>Anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Waggling his eyebrows suggestively, he wraps his arms around Athena’s waist.</p><p> </p><p>It’s time to be a boyfriend for tonight.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a little cold out here,” he whispers, “Let’s warm up, babe.”</p><p> </p><p>In the moment he presses his lips against hers, Calix feels her body loosen and her dainty arms wrap around his shoulders. Oh yeah, he’s getting <em> it. </em> This is <em> The Moment— </em>they skipped the long, slow burn romance and went right into the burning climax and very first sex scene. They opened a romance novel to a random page and jumped into the scene. They’re actors on the stage… and hopefully he’ll get an encore.</p><p> </p><p>He’s going to be the best damn fuck this woman’s ever had, and he’s going to take this golden opportunity to forget that he’s a whore. Just for a little while.</p><p> </p><p>It’s just that—</p><p> </p><p>One slight caveat—</p><p> </p><p>Is it really a caveat? Maybe this is making everything better—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wait a minute, what does caveat even mean— </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Really it’s just one little thing—</p><p> </p><p>What Calix wasn’t quite anticipating is how Athena eats him right up. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a full on, open-mouthed, battle-for-dominance type of kiss. A battle where, suffice to say, she completely obliterates him. His breathing quickens, and her tongue delves into his mouth. She tastes like peppermint. His brain lights on fire and the warmth spreads throughout his entire body. Her mouth is so blindingly hot, the caress of her lips softer than Calix could have ever imagined and he opens his mouth further with a low moan.</p><p> </p><p>Athena’s grip on him tightens and she crushes her body to his, gentle yet firm.</p><p> </p><p>No room for him to escape.</p><p> </p><p>And— in this context, with this woman, with how he feels right now— that’s actually not so bad for once.</p><p> </p><p>Calix feels the hands on the back of his neck play with the ends of his hair. When her tongue dances across his, a heat seems to travel through his veins, warming her. There’s a rush of euphoric bliss that envelops him, and he wonders if this woman has ever kissed someone so passionately before.</p><p> </p><p>It makes his knees buckle.</p><p> </p><p>And another moan comes out of him.</p><p> </p><p>Athena parts from him, and a thin trail of saliva connecting their lips together before it breaks apart. Calix’s shoulders tremble, face completely flushed, and she lets out a soft chorus of chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“Cherry Lips,” she says, almost absentmindedly, “You certainly taste just as sweet as cherries. It’s a good nickname.” She looks completely calm— borderline unaffected, and also somehow sexier than before.</p><p> </p><p>He, meanwhile, has to make a concentrated effort to not just fall to his knees then and there. One kiss, and he feels like a virginal schoolboy all over again. Wiping his lips, he sees Athena’s got an almost wolfish grin etched on her expression.</p><p> </p><p>She liked that— good. He can keep doing this. He always takes the mantle of the submissive partner anyway. It’s his expertise at this point. He’ll rock it. Rock <em> her </em>world.</p><p> </p><p>In the back of his mind, all he thinks about is more wads of cash.</p><p> </p><p>Alright, alright, alright— he’s got this shit memorized. They make-out more, all passion and fire and he reads her body like a book. Then he’ll use his tongue on her cunt— <em> please, if there’s a god, please, please, please make her cunt not stank as hell— </em> he’ll make her see some goddamn stars. <em> Then, </em>he gets his dick wet. She gets satisfied, he gets paid some more, and they both have the best fuck they’ve ever had. Bada bing, bada boom. Nothing can ruin this. </p><p> </p><p>Except if she pulls some weird ass kink outta nowhere.</p><p> </p><p>And what if the money she gives him is counterfeit?</p><p> </p><p>His jitters are already coming back, making him shake his leg and he leans down for another sloppy kiss. Thinking about bullshit isn’t going to keep his cock hard, and goddammit he’s gonna need that little shit hard for a <em> long </em>time. Gotta maximize those hours.</p><p> </p><p>Their breaths mingle with each again when their lips smash together, desire and hunger glowing in Athena’s bright eyes. He draws his tongue over her teeth and swallows his groan of pleasure. </p><p> </p><p>“Mmhm….” They part for air, and he licks his lips. “You’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.” Which, honestly, isn’t much a lie. Or maybe the dollar signs are making him biased. Either works. He considers calling her ‘babe’ again, just to really add the extra <em> umph </em>for this boyfriend roleplay.</p><p> </p><p>Athena’s thumb traces over his lower lip, no doubt she’s reveling in how pussy-eating-worthy his mouth is. Oh yeah, she picked the right man for the job alright. He coaxes her thumb with his tongue, and soon he’s sucking on her digit like a proper whore. He hollows out his cheeks to let out a lewd noise, making sure to accompany the borderline silly sounding <em> slurp </em>with a moan.</p><p> </p><p>Women dig vocal men, after all.</p><p> </p><p>“Calix,” she says, drawing out each letter as if to savour it, and he finds himself feeling a shiver run down his spine. “I want to see what else that pretty mouth can do.”</p><p> </p><p>Aha! Just the way he predicted! Oh yeah, this train ain’t stopping or getting off its tracks— it’s smooth rolling from here on out.</p><p> </p><p>Athena takes a seat on the hood of her car, unbuttoning her coat and <em> ah, </em>evidently she was a woman on a mission the moment she decided to go out tonight. Also just how he predicted.</p><p> </p><p>She’s got nothing on except her nylon stockings underneath her long coat. Her dark skin seems to shine under the moonlight. Calix is immediately distracted by her perky breasts, and how her nipples harden quickly from being exposed for the air. The next thing he knows, he’s on his knees between her legs. He blows a tantalizing warm breath against her crotch and she chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“You said you have rave reviews? Well, show me how you got them.”</p><p> </p><p>Words are unnecessary, so he dives right in head first. Calix traces a tongue over her slit, and he can already taste her wetness seeping through her stockings. In an instant, her labia grows hotter and he continues to lavish his tongue up and down. It must be ticklish, because Athena giggles softly— or maybe she’s just the laughing type. Now that he thinks about it, she’s been letting out chuckles and chortles pretty often.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s nerves.... Maybe this is the first time she’s hired a whore?</p><p> </p><p>Oh, he needs to take advantage of <em> that </em> if that’s the case. Maybe… just maybe—</p><p> </p><p>“With the stockings, your tongue almost feels… almost feels like a cat’s tongue, hehe…” Something akin to bewilderment flashes over her expression, and her cheeks become tinged with a subtle pinkness, “...Not that, ah, not that I know what a cat’s tongue feels like down there…”</p><p> </p><p>Damn… she’s kind of cute… And on top of being sexy? <em> Rich? </em> Fuck, she’s hitting him with a three-hit combo and Calix can already hear the <em> K.O.! </em>being announced at the back of his head. </p><p> </p><p>He pushes his tongue in forward, between her labia. He slurps up her soon flowing fluids through her stockings, a smile soon playing his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Part of getting good reviews is knowing where to stick my tongue in.” He says between licks, “You should tell me where to put my mouth on. Mhmm… I’m a good listener, promise.”</p><p> </p><p>Soon, he feels fingers ruffling through his hair, and grabbing a hold of him.</p><p> </p><p>He looks upwards, and he sees Athena’s eyes are dark and full of pure and undiluted <em> want. </em>Fuck yeah, his tongue is money, baby! </p><p> </p><p>“My clit,” she says, and that’s all he needs to hear.</p><p> </p><p>Athena gasps softly when Calix opts to rip her nylon stockings apart. Immediately, his nostrils are assailed by that distinct musk that only vaginas seem to give off. Wasting no time, he tapers his lips around her erect clit and sucks on it. </p><p> </p><p>The next thing he thinks of is how nice she tastes.</p><p> </p><p>God<em> damn </em> , it’s such a fucking relief that some nights he gets to eat out someone who obviously washed herself before soliciting him. There’s been too many times he puts his mouth to pussies that were just fucking <em> rancid. </em>The least his fucking clients could do done is just put on some perfume or some shit. Yeesh.</p><p> </p><p>He flicks his tongue against her sensitive nub, then takes a chance and slowly coaxes a finger between her pussy lips and begins to slowly and gently finger her as he continues to suck on her clit.</p><p> </p><p>The more he laps her up like a famished cat, the more he thinks her pussy is cream of the crop, crème de la crème, haut monde, bon ton, makes him want to kiss his fingers and go <em> mwah!— </em>That is to say, her cunt is so good it makes him become a French man, and he eats her out like one too. This’ll go down in history as one of—nah, the best— pussy eating a woman has ever witnessed.</p><p> </p><p>At this point, her juices and his saliva dribbles down his chin like a lewd waterfall, and the sounds his mouth makes against her cunt is just as salacious. She likes it, he knows as much because of her legs pressing against his face. When her vagina tenses around his finger and tongue, he knows she’s beginning to get close. Because he’s fucking <em> good </em>at this, the best, and he damn well deserves the money he’s getting.</p><p> </p><p>“Mhmmgh…” She grinds out through gritted teeth, eyes closed as she no doubts begin to chase after her own pleasure. She relentlessly presses against his face, her hand still in his hair. He’s already imagining the next phase of this evening— the fucking. She’ll ride him on the car, and she’s totally the type of woman that likes to do a little bit of slapping and hair pulling. He’ll make sure to be extra whiny for that.</p><p> </p><p>Athena’s body convulses and she lets out a shrill howl, and the sound echoes throughout the lover’s lane. It’s his crowning achievement, making a woman feel this good, and once more makes him forget that he hates his current less than stellar lifestyle. This makes him feel <em> rich, </em>even if it’s only for those couple of glorious seconds as Athena experiences her orgasm.</p><p> </p><p>He catches her cum with his mouth as best as he’s able, and he basically gets a hell of a facial. He keeps his face firmly pressed against her groin as she finishes squirting, and stays there for a little while longer as the aftershocks hit her. </p><p> </p><p>Once her breathing becomes more steady and her leg muscles ease up, Calix finally removes himself from her pussy. Time for the next phase— hot spicy car sex. Maybe if he’s lucky, they’ll fuck until the sun begins to rise.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s enough.”</p><p> </p><p>Calix freezes, leaning over Athena as he was about to begin kissing her neck. The woman in question is smiling in that post-orgasm bliss way, and she leans leisurely back, resting on her elbows against the hood of the car. “I always appreciate a professional. Nice job.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, babe,” Calix smiles widely, a trail of vaginal fluid and saliva still streaking off his chin, “I’m a professional! And professionals finish what they start—” He’s about to lean forward again, but Athena’s hand lightly touches his shoulder, and she pushes him gently.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He frowns as Athena shimmies away from him, reaching for her coat. <em> Shit, shit, shit. Was it… did she not like it when I ripped her stockings? Fuck, of course she did, I didn’t have permission to do something like that and now she’s gonna demand a refund like every other client where this happens and then she’s gonna ditch me here in the middle of nowhere and— </em></p><p> </p><p>Athena holds out something to him, and Calix stops his tumultuous thoughts long enough to get a good look at it. The corners of Athena’s lips are upwards, a light smirk, and she produces more of the most sublime thing he’s ever seen.</p><p> </p><p>More cash.</p><p> </p><p>And— goddammit, his heart skips a beat. <em> Several </em>beats at that, so much so that he practically has to gasp for air when he sees another fat stack of money being graciously handed over to him like it’s a mere penny. </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes flick down to his crotch, and Calix belatedly realizes he’s half hard. He had been focusing so much harder on her that he barely noticed himself— though it’s not women really care much about his cock most of the time anyway. Athena’s lips curl further into a lopsided grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, my apologies. I don’t really feel like continuing to have sex. I’m quite satisfied with what just happened.”</p><p> </p><p>Calix blinks in quick succession, eyes going to the money in his hands and back to Athena.</p><p> </p><p>She puts her coat back on, and then steps closer to graze her hand over his. “Sex is done, but I’d like to continue with the night, if you don’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh…” Calix starts awkwardly, back to where he began— back the train going off track and crashing and burning. Though, is it really that bad considering he’s still getting paid? He’s just… confused about what else she wants. </p><p> </p><p>As if reading his mind, Athena speaks up again. “I want to take you out for dinner. You won’t mind, right? I’ll pay for everything.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh right. Boyfriend stuff. Man, this woman is really taking him for a ride with… all this. So, eat her out, then go on a date. Seems a bit out of order for this romance thing but hey, if she’s paying, then who is he to complain?</p><p> </p><p>Thank fuck for lonely rich women.</p><p> </p><p>Right, right, right. Time to get this train to a different route. Time to be <em> romantic. </em>Calix is a man of action, no need for pussyfooting around. He wipes off the shit on his lips and chin, sauntering off to his side of the car and winking at her. Time for lovey-dovey crap.</p><p> </p><p>Sure, he’s never actually dated anyone before, or fallen in love, but how hard can playing a role be?</p><p> </p><p>He opens the door, ready to make some romantic comment but Athena speaks before him. Again.</p><p> </p><p>“If you need to finish yourself off,” she says, and Calix suddenly feels like the wind has been punched out of him with how his heart skips another beat, “You can. While I’m driving. I don’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s an interesting sort of hunger in her voice, and Calix stares at the money on his seat.</p><p> </p><p>...Sure, whatever. Jerking off in a car seat is plenty romantic.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Whatever may happen in the coming days, Calix can say with confidence that this evening with Athena is certainly the most… <em> interesting </em>thing he’s experienced in a long, long time. Sometimes he feels the need to pinch himself and nope— he’s still here with a woman with some bizarre tastes. Tastes that happen to include him cleaning the jizz off his dick with a 100 dollar bill— luckily not one that was from his ever growing pile of payment. Athena is clearly a woman that makes money materialize out of fucking nowhere with how much she’s made it rain on him by now.</p><p> </p><p>And if he’s honest with himself… it’s really the most fun he’s ever had with a client. There’s a certain sense of euphoria to be had when he’s able to carelessly fling money around.</p><p> </p><p>Now, however, he looks back at the car with an almost forlorn expression as he exits it. Yeah, yeah, Athena wants to take him out on some date but that involves leaving this ferrari which means leaving his damn money!! His anxiety spikes up suddenly with the thought of this damn vehicle getting stolen or just disappearing. </p><p> </p><p>“Relax, no one’s taking the car. It’ll be fine.” Athena’s voice takes him out of his thoughts, and Calix wills himself to look back at her with a winning smile. He knows he won’t be able to stamp out this anxiety until he’s back home with his hard-earned cash, but right now he’s gotta focus on being boyfriend material. His jacket is zipped, this establishment apparently being one where he can’t just have this stomach and abs on display.</p><p> </p><p>He cranes his neck to look up at the skyscraper before him. It’s goddamn massive, and blocks out everything else. </p><p> </p><p>The massive letters proudly displaying the company’s name catches his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Athena Enterprises Inc. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Calix watches Athena’s back as he follows her inside like an obedient dog.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> N-No way… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sure, she’s rich. He’s gathered that much already. This was a woman who has more money than he’ll ever seen in his lifetime. B-But… Athena Enterprises is the biggest name in tech. Suddenly remembering something, he digs through his pocket for his phone. He glances down to the name of manufacturer and lo and behold— it’s got <em> Athena Enterprises Inc </em>proudly displayed on it. This company practically produces every bit of tech imaginable, and only now does he remember where he heard her goddamn name from.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No way. Nuh uh. There’s no way I managed to snag a goddamn CEO as a client. This chick is just bullshitting me. Maybe she works here, and used Athena’s name for shits and giggles. There’s no fucking way—!! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>However, as he keeps watching her back, he sees women stop what they’re doing to acknowledge her with a reverent bow. No one pays him any mind— why would they?— and soon the two of them enter an elevator.</p><p> </p><p>“This is primarily an office building buuuuut,” Athena says playfully, “There’s a very nice restaurant a couple of floors above. I had it installed because I figured everyone here deserves some good food if they want it.”</p><p> </p><p>Calix doesn’t open his mouth out of fear of just fumbling around again. He swallows thickly, sweat sticking to the back of his jacket.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> CEO…. CEO…. C-CEO… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t even know what the acronym means, but he <em> does </em> know they’re a Very Important Person. How did he not at least recognize her? Well, he doesn’t read the news or anything, so he’s got a very superficial knowledge of this company but <em> still!! </em> She’s <em> the Most </em> Important Person. </p><p> </p><p>He just ate out the richest woman on the planet.</p><p> </p><p>This train isn’t on its tracks anymore, it fucking crashed into a gold mine and he’s gotta reap the rewards.</p><p> </p><p>Mind running a mile a minute, every nerve in Calix’s body feels electrified. This makes sense— he thinks about the whole ‘rich woman paying for boyfriend time’ angle again— being the CEO of this place means she’s busy. She doesn’t have time to go out and date some lowly man. She doesn’t have time to <em> court. </em>She doesn’t have time to invest effort into an ongoing relationship.</p><p> </p><p>Time is money, as they say.</p><p> </p><p>So she goes around and pays men to give her some attention for a short little while.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, prostitution is legal otherwise this would be a fucking PR nightmare for Athena and then <em> he’d </em> be punished for it by never being able to see her again.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> I need to see her again after tonight. Again… and again… and again. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Moneymoneymoneymoney— </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The elevator doors open, and he’s greeted with a fancy shmancy restaurant. Everyone is wearing suits tailored to perfection, making him feel even more out of place than he already felt. Every little thing about this place is overdone— there’s delicate live piano music, a lounge area with embroidered couches, long silky looking curtains and a ridiculously massive window with a  hell of a view of the city down below. It's triple-glazed and so clear that the panorama is like a high definition screen at the movie theatre. Birds fly by, and the neon lights below entrance Calix.</p><p> </p><p>They sit at a table directly next to the window. Immediately they’re given the menus, and he has to stop his hands from shaking and outright gasping from the ridiculous prices.</p><p> </p><p>Athena takes a sip of her wine— wait, when did she get that?— and sighs dreamily. “I quite like the dry-cured Iberian ham,” she says her glass in her hand, “And I find the Jeroboam of Chateau Mouton-Rothschild 1945 goes quite nicely with moose cheese. While this is not traditionally a desert, brown lipped abalone is quite sweet and I enjoy having that as the final dish.”</p><p> </p><p>Fucking rich people and their rich people food. Calix understood exactly none of what she just said, so he just nods lamely.</p><p> </p><p>He <em> might </em> be salivating at the mere thought of having fancy ass food, and practically bouncing in his seat, but he’s gotta keep his attention to Athena.</p><p> </p><p>...Maybe he should coyly run his leg up hers? Do some spicy foot action under the table? That’s romantic, right? <em> Oh! </em>He’s gotta eat his food all seductive like, too.</p><p> </p><p>Athena’s expression becomes one of slight embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose I should apologize again. I’ve never done this sort of thing before, paying for… services such as yours. I hope I haven’t made you too uncomfortable. I’m still figuring this sort of thing out. So! I decided I should give you a nice dinner. But, uh, I suppose I should have done that first…”</p><p> </p><p>Calix blinks. <em> The hell? </em> Surely there’s no way a CEO can be this… flustered? Cute? Nervous? Adorable? He doesn’t know how to describe this, but she just doesn’t <em> feel </em>like a tech giant…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Buuuuuut. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He remembers how she completely overwhelmed him with a simple kiss, and the power she held over him as he ate her out. When he watched her walk in this building, she exuded nothing but authority and confidence with her held high, despite only wearing ripped nylon stockings under her long coat. There she felt like someone who could lead a massive company.</p><p> </p><p>Well, they do say there’s two sides of every coin.</p><p> </p><p>He shifts in his seat, at this point there’s food that’s been served on his table— a dish of meat, bread and soup, all served on silver platters. All food that he’ll probably never be able to afford, and yet they look so simple. He picks at the ham with his fork, flashing Athena a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I sure won’t complain if I’m going to be treated to a fancy meal.” Then, he figures he might as well take an opportunity that’s presented to him. </p><p> </p><p>“Are… Are you really…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Athena Passaquindici?” Her eyes narrow playfully, looking like a particularly proud cat, “My, what gave my identity away?” She chuckles lightly, “You know, when I was first starting this company I thought of using my last name for the title, but Passaquindici Enterprises doesn’t quite flow off the tongue as nicely, does it? It’s too hard to pronounce for a lot of people, apparently.”</p><p> </p><p>Calix chuckles with her, trying to keep the lilt of nervousness in his voice in check. He tries to remember literally anything he’s read about this woman— she looks really, really young but he knows she’s somewhere in her thirties. At the very least she’s six or so years older than him. She started Athena Enterprises like, what, 10 years ago…? And it’s the fastest growing company in the world since?</p><p> </p><p>He rubs the back of his neck. “Can’t say I’ve ever been approached by someone of your… stature.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah! So I suppose this is a whole new thing for both of us then!” She titters on happily, taking a sip of her wine and Calix pays extra attention to her lips, “You see, sometimes I get a little stressed. I’m currently working on a new little project you see…” She leans in and whispers conspiratorially, mischief in her eyes, “Now, I do hope I can trust you to keep this hush hush. Company secrets and all that.”</p><p> </p><p>Calix very much doubts that, no CEO of her stature would ever share actual secrets, but he plays along with a grin and questioning brow. </p><p> </p><p>“I hope to make these chips, you see… Not the food type, haha. Something that goes in your,” She points to her forehead, and clicks her tongue. “Noggin. It’ll access the internet and you can browse the web in your mind, <em> and </em>it’ll have a safety measure— a GPS. Get in trouble? You can use the chip to call the cops and they’ll know your exact location. It’s basically telepathy!”</p><p> </p><p>He has to stop himself from frowning and wrinkling his nose in a subconscious gesture of distaste. Now, he may not know a lot about tech, but he <em> does </em>know something like that can be abused pretty easily.</p><p> </p><p>Athena’s smiling face makes him refrain from making a stupid comment.</p><p> </p><p>“I started this company because I wanted to help people,” she continues, “I want to make things more convenient, and safe… So I hope that’s what I can do, and continue to do for many years to come.”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice sounds so genuine that Calix finds he can’t really make much of a retort. This is a project she believes in, and he can believe she does actually have people’s best interest at heart. Okay, fine, he doesn’t know shit about tech so he won’t say anything about it. He doubts she’d appreciate his half baked opinion anyway.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as he’s done mulling over that, Athena leans forward and rests her chin in her hand. There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes again.</p><p> </p><p>“As you can imagine, it’s a lot of work getting something like that set up. Like I said, sometimes I get a little stressed, and I finally decided I needed a quick break.” She winks, “So, thanks. You really helped me de-stress there.”</p><p> </p><p>Calix takes a spoonful of the creamy and sweet soup, the warm mixture was pure ambrosia in his mouth and he has to physically stop himself loosening his too tight pants to get more food in more comfortably. Fuck. He opts to distract himself with slowly moving his foot closer towards Athena. With all this talk of de-stressing, well, it’s probably as good a time as any to do this.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I’m good at,” he whispers, leg slowly running up hers, “You keep doing your tech stuff and I’ll keep… helping you de-stress.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah.”</p><p> </p><p>He almost drops his spoon, body freezing. The air seems to freeze over, once the words are out and floating about between the two of them. There’s no desire in her voice, just… something that sounds matter of fact. Stoic, almost. Definitely the voice a big bad CEO would use, even if it’s just <em> nah. </em>And it makes Calix want to sink into his chair.</p><p> </p><p>Great. Out of all the ways to fuck it up, he does it like <em> this. </em>What did he even say wrong?!</p><p> </p><p>“O-Oh, uh,” he fumbles, attempting to repair the situation. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to assume, I guess. It’s just—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m done with sex for tonight. Don’t get me wrong, you were fantastic! But I just wanna sit back and relax for the rest of the night,” Athena amends, and Calix thinks he might start blowing smoke out of his ears with how his brain feels like it’s going on overdrive. He’s on her good side, then he’s not, then he is, then he isn’t— Goddammit why can’t his mind just calm down for a hot fucking second for once.</p><p> </p><p>Athena continues, “I’d like to know more about you, if you don’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks. She takes another sip of wine. </p><p> </p><p>“We’ll be having dinner for a while, so I figured we could just talk to fill the silence, hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aha… Well, I dunno. I can’t imagine there’s a whole lot that’s interesting about me anyway. I'm just a… y’know.”</p><p> </p><p>Twirling her fork around, Athena tilts her head coquettishly. “Not interesting? I doubt that. Besides, just listening and watching a handsome man in front of me? That’s fine enough for me.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Fuck me, </em> he thinks, followed imemdiately after with, <em> this is some casanova level shit. </em>He realizes they’re still on a ‘date.’ Okay, so, apparently this night is still going on then. They went in some wack ass order for this boyfriend shit, but whatever. He wonders if they’ll be tongue wrestling again later tonight. Sex is out, but surely kissing is still on the table...</p><p> </p><p>In the back of his mind, he thinks more about money, but most of all he thinks about what Athena said just moments ago— <em> sit back and relax. </em>It’s been a while since he’s done that.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks about what to say, and soon begins weaving some tale about how him and his older brother used to steal lambs from a farm to dye them ridiculous colours before letting them loose in town.</p><p> </p><p>Calix doesn’t have any siblings, nor has he ever been on a farm before. But hey, if Athena doesn’t call bullshit about his improv skills then does it really matter?</p><p> </p><p>She merely listens to him with a smile.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Oh my gosh! Is that Alpha Age IV?! And in its original packaging?! That’s gotta be so rare!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Calix smiled forlornly at the woman gaping at the game in her hands. It’s a title he remembered spending many long nights in his childhood finishing the story, then he spent the next several months playing it to complete the bonus content. He’s had it for over a decade, and while, sure, the game’s got its quirks and flaws he’d call it one of his most precious possessions. It reminded him of simpler times, of a life that was not… what he currently has.</p><p> </p><p>And he had to sell it, along with every other game he owned.</p><p> </p><p>He’s just got nothing else left to pawn off. And rent payment is coming.</p><p> </p><p>He forced a smile. <em> “Uh huh. Pristine condition, too. I took damn good care of it.” </em>He had practically given the thing its own altar, it’s very own spot and seperate from the rest of his game collection. He had booted it up for one last time before coming out here to sell it, and every second seemed to sap more of his soul out from him— just complete misery is all that’s left.</p><p> </p><p>The woman looked at it up and down, then took out her purse.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “$250.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Calix wrinkled his nose at the offer. <em> “It’s worth at least double that.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Says who?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I— The internet. There’s other copies going for 500.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She smirked. It quickly infuriated him, but he kept that to himself and instead bounced his leg impenitently. He had to make a conscious effort to resist the urge to look at the time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Now, any good business mogul wouldn’t make the price exactly like its competitors. That’s no way to do it, what would stop me from just going onto the internet and buying from there?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>At that point, he couldn’t quite suppress the urge to roll his eyes. He pursed his lips to a thin line. <em> “$450, then.” </em></p><p> </p><p>She feigned disinterest, and placed the game back on the table Calix had brought out for this impromptu yard sale. <em> “This is such a niche game as is, and out of print, too. There’s not a doubt in my mind that there’s one that’s $250 out there somewhere, because who would pay $500 for that anyway? It’s a good game, sure, but c’mon.” </em></p><p> </p><p>If he wasn’t downright desperate for the money, Calix would have left it at that. Maybe made a snide remark. Hell, maybe if he was angry enough he would have given the woman the finger for wasting his time. Instead, he looked at the time with growing anxiety. He was just on the cusp making enough for the month’s rent, and if he sold this for $250, that would mean he needed to sell three or four more games. Maybe. He could do that.</p><p> </p><p>He really didn’t want to go out to the alley that night. It was already a shitty enough day from getting yelled at from his landlord. Looking down at the game that held so many memories for him… his eyes twitched, and he blinked in quick succession to get a hold of himself.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Yeah, whatever. $250 will work. Just take it.” </em>He said bitterly.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Calix stares at the ceiling. It’s a bland cream colour, and outside he can hear the sputtering engine of someone’s aging car going down the street. Soon, he’ll be hearing the fucking train barrel past just outside his apartment. </p><p> </p><p>But that doesn’t matter.</p><p> </p><p>Not when he’s laying on the floor with a bunch of cash around him. He <em> might </em> have thrown the bills around and made it rain on himself when he got back. A man’s gotta live a fantasy every once and awhile. And boy, was he <em> feeling </em>the ultimate fantasy just moments ago.</p><p> </p><p>And all he had to do was eat out a slightly older woman and go out to dinner. He had dropped into something of a trance when telling his tale to Athena, which was mostly bullshit but whatever, and when he had finished she was softly giggling. He leaned back in his chair, saying something akin to <em> “Heh, man I talked your ear off there. I’ll be quiet now. What about you? Got any stories to tell?” </em></p><p> </p><p>And she merely gave him the same smile she had before, <em> “I said I like hearing handsome men speak, didn’t I? I like it when you talk. Keep going.” </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Ah, </em> he had thought then, <em> I’ve been blessed with an actual angel for once. </em></p><p> </p><p>She gets bonus points for looking nice, smelling good, and tasting even better. He had continued talking after that, of course. She had sounded so gentle, yet so commanding at the same time. He filled the entire dinner with a bunch of random stories he made up on the spot. It was good shit, if he was allowed to pat himself on the back. All the while, he could feel himself becoming more warm.</p><p> </p><p>And then she was nice enough to drive him back to his place. She didn’t need to do <em> that, </em> and yet she did. Even gave him <em> another </em>tip after slapping him on the ass. God, what he’d give to usually make that much from just getting spanked.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks back to every other woman he’s been forced to sleep with. Then he thinks about how… <em> quaint </em>being with Athena was like. Everything was just so fucking divine. Then he thinks about every little bit of bullshit he has had to do to make end’s meet. He’s got nothing left to sell except for himself and he’s been doing that for a while now.</p><p> </p><p>Athena had given him enough money to pay rent for a good while, but it’ll run out… And all he can think about is <em> her, her, her. </em></p><p> </p><p>And then he can only think about the distinct feeling of euphoria he got when she gave him a stack of money for something so <em> simple. </em>He just put his mouth to her crotch!! Easiest fucking couple thousand he’s ever gotten!</p><p> </p><p>Calix sighs contentedly, taking some bills and lazily throwing it in the air— watching it slowly float to the floor. Literally the most beautiful sight on earth, he might just cry.</p><p> </p><p>Athena’s face comes back into his mind.</p><p> </p><p>...She’s a busy lady. She’ll get stressed again.</p><p> </p><p>And he’ll be there. He <em> has </em> to be. He has to be the <em> only </em> one who warms her bed and keeps her company. <em> Money, money, money— </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Stability, stability, stability. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Something’s already forming in his mind. He’s gotta woo her. Constantly stay outside her building and be available at her convenience all night every night. It’s gotta be clean. It’s gotta be good. It’s gotta be fun times all around and they both leave satisfied. He’s already shown he’s successful pretend-boyfriend material, so it’s smooth riding from here.</p><p> </p><p>Whispering sweet nothings, gyrating his hips against her… a victory for the ages. He can see it, standing on the podium bedazzled with a medal that proudly declares his talents; <em> #1 pussy eater this earth has ever seen. </em></p><p> </p><p>The only whore that's gonna be licking her cunt is him.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Little does Calix know, he's gonna be sucking on a silicone dick in the next chapter. Tee hee. </p><p>I like to imagine this as a sort of prequel to chapter 5, Neon Lights and Black Lace, in that this is set probably several decades before that story. Athena's tech will make this world into a matriarchal dystopia. She doesn't do this intentionally, as I also like to imagine that this place becoming a cyberpunk hellscape happens only after she dies so don't worry she's still a good person, lol. </p><p>Remember one of Luca's lines? "Let’s just say you’re either a trophy husband or a whore." Which one will Calix become in the thrilling continuation?!? Ah, I'm shivering in anticipation!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. You're The Pulse In My Veins (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Men get pegged.</p><p>Includes: Cunnilingus, blowjob on a dildo, face-fucking, pegging.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Calix doesn’t have much of a plan to see Athena again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except for skulking around her giant ass skyscraper every now and then, pacing around like a fidgety mouse unsure of where to go. He doesn’t get </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>close, because then he’ll be chased off by security. He begrudgingly knows that from experience, and they never give him enough time to explain himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m here to see Athena—” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d say, and then they’d kick him out. Which, to be fair, he’s not entirely sure what he would say after that anyway. Not like he can just go </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey I’m the prostitute she was with earlier, I’m back ‘cause I know she’ll want me here.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or maybe he can just say that? It’s not exactly uncommon to see rich and powerful women in the company of whores. It’s a thing that happens often enough that it's part of the norm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...That makes him antsy. That makes him move with an ungainly restlessness. Pacing up and down as if determined to wear out a thin trail into the sidewalk, Calix’s eyes keep going back to the Athena Enterprise building. He’s lost count of the times he’s come around here, always feeling distinctly out of place because of everyone wearing their fancy shmancy silks and satins and whatever other fabric he’s probably never heard of before. Even with the new clothes he bought he stands out as someone who’s definitely on the poorer side. Sure, he got himself a nice new wardrobe but it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>nice— he’s trying to be smart with his purchases and keep a good chunk of it in a seperate account used purely for rent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not in dire need of funds right now, but if he wants Athena to be a consistent force in his life he’s gotta start… staking his claim on her valuable and precious time… Again, the thought of her picking up another whore— </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If there was one way to ruin his night, it was imagining someone other than </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>with their face against her crotch. It’s enough to make him clench his fists, his fingernails digging into the palm of his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smiling wryly, he runs his hand through his hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You haven’t even caught a single glance of her since your night together and now you’re so territorial, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks to himself. It’s true though, but hey, anyone would do the same. When life gives you oranges and all that… or was it lemons? Whatever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stops mid-pace, though he still feels restless so he bounces one of his legs. Despite not wanting to think about it, his mind wanders to how he was practically hyperventilating for… a good 70% of their interaction when they met. He had the shaky confidence of a goddamn chihuahua. Remembering it is enough to make him feel an overwhelming sense of mortification. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now whenever he recalls any of his embarrassing moments, him being a fucking dumbass will reinsert itself in his mind. Basically his personal hall of shame is that one date night. It’s a fucking miracle Athena didn’t just take out a camera and go </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘dude this is going into my cringe compilation.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a whine, his face burns bright enough to outshine the sun and his mind scatters like a scared rabbit. Calix brings himself back to reality by smacking the palm of his hands onto his cheeks, an action that feels like he’s dumping a bucket of water on himself to wake up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This woman is your literal future!! Don’t fuck it up! </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Him acting like a stupid virgin is done! That was then, and this is now! He’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>man! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And he’ll be Athena’s only man, dammit! They’ve built something of a rapport and it’s just smooth sailing from here! He’s gotta remember to keep that damn train steadfastly on its track. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Choo choo motherfucker— remember that!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wish renewed confidence he paces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And paces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And paces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And paces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the night soon grows long and weary— and Athena doesn’t make an appearance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, maybe tonight is a no show. Again. But it’s not all for naught! He’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking, </span>
  </em>
  <span>shockingly enough. Forming a game plan— whenever he does see her again he’ll nonchalantly approach her and she’ll recognize him… hopefully. No, she will. They catch up. He fills the silence with his voice because she likes hearing him talk. He’ll be her background noise and fill the mood and they go out. He's gonna bring out the chemistry, baby!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ll chill out. Just the way she likes it. He’ll butter her up with whatever bullshit he can make up. Stretch a leg out. Lay back against the seat. Get his full and </span>
  <em>
    <span>supple</span>
  </em>
  <span> frame on display— he’s been doing more sit-ups, squats and push-ups lately. Gotta get those man buns all good and healthy, fuck yeah. Give her a show with the food. Maybe he’ll order clams and be really loud and slurpy with it. Wet and dirty, hell yeah. Get her burning up and then she can’t take it anymore, forces him to his knees, and then grinds against his face for the rest of the evening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure, she might… like, completely derail it, and go out of order, but that hardly matters. All that matters is her cumming on him. She’ll go </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow you’re so good at this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then they live happily ever after.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...What would it be like to be her… sugar baby? Is that what he’s aiming for? God, to just wake up her every morning and then get bitch slapped with a wad of cash. Fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix glances down to his phone to check the time. It’s late. Real late, to the point it’s pretty much the morning. So this evening was a bust. He doesn’t come here every day, but he definitely comes often enough. But hey, if no one has confronted him or called him a stalker, is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>one?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blows a breath, and quickens his pace to a street curb to hail a cab in utter chagrin. He’ll meet up with her again. They have to. He’s already decided it’s destiny.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s hers. All he needs to do is make her realize that simple fact.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The icy grey sky restlessly grumbles. Calix scowls at the darkening clouds. That totally ruins the mood— so dreary looking. Nothing about the current weather lends itself to a night of passionate romance. But, well, at the same time if it’s cold he’ll have an excuse to traipse right up to Athena and mention something about ‘warming up.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That is, if he even fucking sees her again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s been pacing around here for a while and there’s been no sight of her. He’s taken a break here and there to grab a coffee and a snack, and now he can’t help but beat himself over it. What if during those precious minutes he missed her? Angrily crunching up his coffee cup and throwing it in the nearest garbage bin, he staunchly ignores that very possibility and goes back to skulking around and waiting for his one-way ticket of living a comfortable life to show up already. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a loud gregarious boom of thunder that almost makes him jump out of his skin. Then immediately after the noise echoes across the city does he feel a drop of wetness fall on his head. Quickly, all other sound is overwhelmed by the heavy downpour that washes over everything. Water gurgles down the asphalt into already overloaded storm drains and the flora bows to the gale. Businesswomen, some prepared with umbrellas and some not, make light jogs towards shelter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix stands with the water running freely down his face and into his already soaked clothes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, this fucking sucks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The flash river that runs down the street gushes over the tops of his soft leather shoes, and he knows that getting back to his apartment is going to be an utterly miserable affair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If there’s a god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’s trying her damndest to stop him from having his whirlwind romance and money grubbing. Psh. He’s not gonna let something like the damn weather stop him from getting some rich pussy. He’s a man on a mission! He’s got goals to achieve! He’s—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fucking freezing!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix soon finds himself shaking from the cold. His wet feet have it the worst, and every little movement feels so unbearably uncomfortable. Wet socks are definitely the worst torture a person could endure, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The dampness and general feeling of being frozen to death creeps up the fabric of his pants, clamping the icy fibres to his already frigid skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s bad. Having an impromptu cold shower isn’t exactly going to lend itself to him being able to get his dick hard, which </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>not be all that important if Athena just wants to use his mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But!! </span>
  </em>
  <span>On the chance she wants him to use his cock he needs to be at his full potential!!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...And catching a cold will do him no favours. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sighing and admitting defeat, he’s about to try to hail a cab, but then he catches a glimpse of </span>
  <em>
    <span>red.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gazing straight ahead, now only half-aware of a world around him as he focuses entirely on the most glorious sight he’s seen all month. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A red ferrari— </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>red ferrari.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then— it’s like it happens in slow motion. Someone opens the door while someone else places their jacket on the wet ground like they’re setting out the red carpet for a queen. Whatever coldness he had been feeling is immediately replaced with white hot excitement as Calix is barely able to keep his body still. A leg in shiny black pants sets out, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’s somehow even more beautiful and regal looking than when he first saw her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena’s wearing a suit that’s as crisp and clean as the dollar bills she rained down upon him. She’s got more hair than he remembers, and he wonders if she’s gotten new weaves, though he’s not really sure how that type of thing works. Instead of bouncy curly hair that stops at her shoulders, her hair now comes in loose and deep waves that go her mid-back. Her face, just as remembers it, is chiseled by the fucking gods. Her features are soft, and yet there’s an undeniable sense of power in how she carries herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Just seeing her is enough to make his knees buckle, and Calix thinks he’s seeing stars. It’s like he’s got the winning lottery ticket in his hands, and he’s gotta cash it in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix’s gonna play his cards right. He’s gonna keep his gait casual without a hint of hesitation. Strut up there with the confidence he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely, totally, absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>has, put on a smoldering smirk and say hey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except it doesn’t happen like that. At all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His posture is weakened by the weight of his soaked clothes, and the slippery path makes him practically skid as one leg goes in one direction and the other leg goes somewhere else entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s about as graceful as a sledgehammer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All at once his foot ceases to travel forwards and the scenery starts to blur like a poorly shot photograph. And then, he kisses the pavement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air seems to freeze over. The only sounds are the deafening rain drops, and Calix’s brain takes a moment to comprehend what the fuck just happened. Alright. Okay. Not exactly the illustrious entrance he wanted to make, he had been imagining a train on its tracks and once again he feels like he’s watching it crash and burn in horrific slow motion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slightly dazed, he groggily lifts his head slowly up. First he sees some feet in heels, then legs, then a chest and finally a face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena’s expression is frozen in cold, calculating thought as she looks down at him and Calix thinks he might just spontaneously combust then and there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then— recognition flickers in her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Calix?” She asks, eyebrows raising in slight bewilderment as she waves her hand at one of the people behind her who— </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh my god did that person just holster a gun did her bodyguard think I was trying to attack her holyshitholyshitholyshit—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blinking in quick succession, Calix opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Though he does almost drown from all the fucking rain, so he splutters like a goddamn idiot. Swallowing thickly and shakily trying to stand, his lips curl in a tense smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um. Hi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The universe must be conspiring against him in some way. Alright. Okay. Whatever plan he had flying around his head is already shot down. But hey, he’s already impressed her with his pussy-eating prowess and sorta rendered her speechless so maybe face planting his face into the wet concrete isn’t enough to turn her completely off from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The quirk at the corner of her lips is enough to make him want to throw his fists in the hair and go </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck yeah! </span>
  </em>
  <span>His heart flutters, so much so it feels like it’s going to climb out of his throat. Okay, maybe she </span>
  <em>
    <span>likes </span>
  </em>
  <span>it when he’s a weird, fumbling idiot. That’s cute, ain’t it? He can be </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>cute. Plan A is out, plan B is in. Plan B being doing whatever it takes to lick her cunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena juts her chin, and someone holds an umbrella over Calix. A welcome reprieve from the rain that feels like its fucking punching him, and he softly thanks her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My, my. What are you doing all the way out here and in the middle of the rain?” She asks, voice calm like she didn’t just witness him make a complete fool of himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix rubs the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. Initially he was gonna be smooth and ask her if she wanted to go out or whatever, or hell, maybe he would have just said he wanted to have her for dinner. Whatever it took. But with other people around, all of which seemed to be built as fuck bodyguards, he’s… feeling just a teensy bit intimidated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, instead, he sneezes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena’s brows raise to her hairline as concern etches its way to her perfect face. “Oh! Goodness, I’m sorry. My question can wait. First we’ve got to warm you back up! Honestly, you should have checked the weather reports. They all said there was going to be a storm.” She waggles her finger as she chides him with a smile, then beckons her hand to tell him to follow her as she strides towards the building.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have my own suite on the 45th floor. I spend a fair amount of time working here, so sometimes I like to spend all-nighters, hehe.” She titters on happily, and Calix obediently walks behind her as his body shivers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not really how he imagined their second meeting would be, but it’ll work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s a man on a mission, he reminds himself. The first hurdle is done, but there’s still plenty to do.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix flops onto the sprawling leather sofa, now dressed in only a cotton bathrobe. He feels like he’s on Cloud 9. There’s only pure and absolute euphoria flowing through his veins, especially when he was bathing. Holy shit, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bath</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was big enough to fit an entire football team in! Everything was in marble! He felt like he was in one of those Roman baths!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air smells sweet from all the exotic flower pots just chilling around the room. The rain patters against the window and the sound is accompanied by jazz music playing from a radio. He’s giddy to the point he might just start giggling like a schoolboy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he can’t celebrate yet! He’s gotta get Athena to pretty much claim him as hers first!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sits up when he hears footsteps stroll in, and he watches Athena placing down a tray of tea and biscuits with rapt attention. She’s no longer wearing her heels or jacket, opting to go barefoot with black pants and buttoned up shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s such a simple and casual outfit, and yet, she wears it better than literally anyone. Stunning! Wonderful! Totally unique! And most importantly, rich!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” she says, and Calix leans back against the sofa, making sure to show off his toned legs with the loose fitting bathrobe. He’s sporting some man cleavage, too. Only the best for his future sugar mommy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What were you doing here in the middle of a torrential downpour?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix licks his lips in an action that he hopes is sexy and not hopelessly awkward, although considering his current track record… yeah. Anyway, after a sip of tea from a cup that looks like it’s made of pure gold, he can already feel his heart thumping erratically against his ribs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should just be frank. Yeah. Just take the bull by its horns. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… I was, uh, hoping I could help you de-stress again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beat of silence. A beat that feels like it’s going on for far too long but Calix tries to keep himself calm, but that’s a little hard when he can already feel himself begin to sweat from nervousness. In true Calix fashion, he doesn’t really properly think about his next move. He makes a V-sign with his middle and pointer finger and sticks his tongue out to lazily mimic out the motion of him eating out a metaphorical pussy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And immediately after doing so, he wants to sink into the sofa and disappear. He supposes that’s also a typical Calix thing to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, after he finishes experiencing his fifth mid-life crisis this week, Athena lets out a small breath. Something akin to a single chuckle, and her lips form into a wider grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, at least he’s endearing to her. He’ll take that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that right?” She hums, and there’s an immediate sensation of shameful delight tingling across his spine as her gaze trails over his body like he’s a piece of meat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Does she want him to grovel? Because he’ll absolutely grovel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We both had a good time. So… we could… y’know. Keep doing it.” God, why does it feel like he needs to give her a resume that’s just the history of every cunt he’s ever licked?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a stifling extra few seconds, Athena’s smile becomes one where it looks as though she’s trying to stop herself from laughing. She’s thoroughly enjoying this, and a comfortable warmth spreads throughout his lower stomach, and there’s more… tingles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head, eyes playful. “And I assume you still want to be paid?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix finds he can’t quite formulate a verbal response to that, so he hesitantly nods once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that, she does bark out a laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Frank and a professional! My, you don’t see that in men these days.” She takes a single sip of her tea, “I’ve been told that on some days, there’s been a certain someone hanging outside my building for some time now. You’re quite dedicated. I suppose I can respect that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix’s nerves swell suddenly from the realization that she knows he’s been waiting around— because of course she does. Though, she’s still smiling and seems completely relaxed, so it’s all good. Plan B is working. The train is still headed to that gold mine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat, tongue darting across his lower lip. “Yeah. I’ve just— just been starstruck, y’know? Can’t think of anything but you… I’m dedicated alright! Not backing down— I’m, I’m recalcitrant!” He smiles and crosses his arms. Oh yeah, he’s been learning big boy words just to make himself all the more appealing. He’s a bonafide </span>
  <em>
    <span>scholar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Most women don’t appreciate being stalked, you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aaaand Calix is back to wishing he could become one with the sofa cushions. Before he can go about groveling for her forgiveness— and maybe even waggling his brows and saying he’ll make it up to her by eating her out— Athena spreads her legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Goosebumps immediately assault his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I’ll take it as a compliment.” She says, her tone strong. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Commanding— </span>
  </em>
  <span>as if to remind him who truly holds the power in this room, this building, this city, this whole fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>world.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s suddenly feeling awfully hot in this bathrobe. Athena’s expression only becomes all the more smug the more he squirms on the sofa.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She juts her chin at him, and Calix immediately understands the silent command. His eyes lock with hers the entire time he slips off the sofa to crawl towards her, being the most enticing kitten he can manage. When he reaches her, his hand rubs against her crotch for a few seconds before he smoothly takes her pants and underwear off in one motion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glances upwards to her, and Athena merely takes another sip of her tea with a questioning brow, egging him on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s no words between them, the sound of jazz and rain being the only things he hears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, well, he liked to think he could also hear a chorus of angels singing as well. Something big and grand to herald his expert and succulent mouth coming to her velvet soft pussy lips. They’re a match made in heaven, after all! It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>destiny!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ceaselessly, his tongue glides up and down her labia as he devours her like a five star banquet. Heat blooms across his entire body at the realization that he’s succeeded. He’s got his treasure! His gold mine! He’s gonna be like a dragon with its horde of trinkets when he gets home tonight! He’s gonna make it rain with dollar bills, baaaaaaaby!!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His tongue sinks into her folds, and he’s rewarded with Athena beginning to grind her hips against him. Her hand fists itself into his dark hair, and his nose begins nudging against her clit. His tongue begins to move faster and in wider strokes as his hand moves to her crotch. Soon, his fingers start to tease her slit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When his finger enters her, he feels her walls clench down, and her hips grind against his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears her chuckle lowly above him. “Does it taste good?” She breathes out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He responds further by quickening the pace of his tongue, and then latches onto her clit to suck on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gasps, her voice tinged with gleeful laughter. At the side of his face, he can feel her legs tremble. Every moan that comes out of her makes him feel like the luckiest man alive. He’s floating in the clouds— what was that he thought of earlier? Cloud 9? He doesn’t even know what that is, but he’s there and then some.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laps up her juices, drinking in everything he can. His chin is thoroughly wet at this point, and his finger continues to pump in and out of her folds. Athena rides his tongue like a woman possessed, and he stops for nothing, even when she clamps her thighs tighter around him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can only taste her. He can only smell her. He can only hear her. He can only see her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix’s cock quickly begins to grow hard, desperate for any sort of attention. But he doesn’t give it any— Athena hasn’t given him permission to do anything for himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ahh…haah aha! She’s mine, I’m hers! I’ll do anything she tells me to!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whole body becoming taut like a rope, his toes curl as Athena throws her head back with laughter. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was drunk. Or maybe she’s drunk off the atmosphere because he’s totally good enough to do that to a woman. She cums in his mouth and he wouldn’t have it any other way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She keeps him smothered against her crotch for a few moments longer. When she allows him to move away, he gasps for air dramatically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix stares at awe at the woman in front of him. She hasn’t even spilled any of her tea— but he’ll use that motivation to hone his skills so she </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>spill her drink the next time he eats her out. ‘Cause there’ll be a next time. No doubt about that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to focus on anything from all the pleasure he’s feeling, but he manages to croak out a few words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S-See…? Made you see stars again there. We make a good duo… S-So, we should… keep seeing each other.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She huffs. “Aren’t you a cute one. You’re lucky you’re so good at what you do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s half expecting her to lazily flick a wad of cash at him, but instead, she presses her teacup against her cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re tea’s going to get cold if it isn’t already.” There’s a knowing glint in her eyes, “Sit on the sofa. You can finish yourself off if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix is starting to get the itching suspicion that Athena is into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>veeeeery </span>
  </em>
  <span>specific pattern of getting eaten out, watching him jack off, and then having a nice lil’ chat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sits on the couch, feeling boneless yet hard as rock as the same time. Well, it’s only one part of him that’s hard, really. He rubs his hand against his bathrobe, bucking his hips to give her a bit of a show.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hope I can listen to you weave some marvelous story again. Once you’ve finished, of course. Or, if you’d like to tell me something while you’re busy with your cock, I’d be fine with that too,” Athena purrs and Calix stutters out a shaky breath. Ah, the things this woman does to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he opens up his bathrobe and grasps his cock, he replies to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C-Can we…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Meet again? Hmm,” she taps her chin with a lazy grin, “I’ll think about it if you give me your phone number.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He becomes very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>close to just cumming then and there. There’s nothing but impish glee running through his veins now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The train is back at its gold mine, and it’s staying there. It’s docked there permanently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix soon spins some bullshit tale about how he accidentally bought a horse while on a lad’s holiday in Bulgaria due to a language barrier. In his drunken-like stupor from all this pleasure he’s currently feeling, he slurs his words and briefly wonders if Bulgaria is an actual place that exists. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever. Athena giggles every now and then and makes her own quips. That’s all that matters.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They meet again after that night. And again, and again, and again. It’s always the same, as he expected, he licks her cunt, he finishes in front of her, and they eat while they talk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s often and lucrative enough that Calix is able to move into an apartment closer to Athena. Sayonara old dinky ass place! Sayonara Ethel, you fucking dickwad of a landlord! Fuck you!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even got himself a new game console, and managed to get back some of his older games that hold a special place in his heart. They’re his heirlooms, as he likes to say. Even got himself a treadmill. Oh yeah, now </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a life of luxury. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don’t meet everyday. Or even every week. Sometimes he sees her again after months, the biggest gap having been three months which may have sent him in a slight panic attack. Luckily, it’s never been enough of a gap to make him run out of his rent money. He’s been kind of frugal for the most part, setting a good chunk aside for ‘retirement.’ He hasn’t travelled at all, and Calix mulls over the idea of setting another portion of his funds to going somewhere— though whenever he tries to research any of this shit everything always tells him it’s dangerous for a man to travel by himself. Maybe he should convince Athena to come with him…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, and everything naturally goes back to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every night is spent thinking about her. Not even about sex, just… her. Her face, her body, how she seemingly has a different hairstyle every time he sees her…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Honestly, he kinda wishes she would talk more when they have their chats. It’s mostly been him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The more he thinks about her, the less he thinks about… dollar bills, and the more he just daydreams of her doing whatever. Sometimes he imagines her drinking her tea, or reading a book, or giving out orders to people in the office. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the middle of his rumination, his phone buzzes, and Calix practically trips over himself to check it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shuga momma 💰💰💰: 7:30 PM. Usual place.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>CaliXXX: on my way!! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slicking his hair back and throwing on a tuxedo ‘cause he’s totally a </span>
  <em>
    <span>rich </span>
  </em>
  <span>man now,he  practices his strut a couple of times in front of the mirror, and heads off to get some </span>
  <em>
    <span>action.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The entire time he’s getting there, his mind is just filled with nothing but images of Athena’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena has an awfully large selection of jazz music. Calix doesn’t think he’s heard a repeat of the same song since he’s started being her personal whore. He bobs his head at the new tune, and soon there’s a saxophone solo that he’d frankly call pretty sexy. Athena is a businesswoman and an expert moodmaker. Ah, the talent of this woman!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s busy poking at some exotic plant he’s never seen before when he hears her enter, and his breath is taken away upon seeing her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s sporting a fashionable pixie cut— though when is she </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>fashionable?— and a dark purple suit graces her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a skip in his step, he walks over to Athena. “Hey,” he says, having dropped the ‘babe’ ever since she told him to just call her by her name. He’s about to kneel in front of her to get the show on the road cause they don’t need to exchange words at this point— that’s served for the lil’ date and meal after all this. But before he can get on his knees and proceed with his worshipping, she taps his forehead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey to you,” she purrs, “That was Jeffrey you were poking at. He’s a carnivorous plant. Be careful or he might just bite your finger off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quirks a brow at her, “You name your plants?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you don’t?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jeffrey? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jeffrey the carnivorous plant?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She huffs and taps his cheek. “Humour me. What would you name yours if you had one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix has to resist the urge to wrinkle his brows together. It’s kind of weird for her to carry on the conversation </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>he smothers his face against her crotch, but about… plants? Huh?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, at the same time, he finds he doesn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, he kinda likes it, so his lips curl into a lopsided smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Elizabeth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Hmm. I wonder if that’s also a lie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix blinks. Then he blinks again. A twinge of apprehension hits him, and before he can formulate a response, Athena takes a step forward. Instinctively, he takes a step back. Sure, he’s a bit nervous now, but more than anything the hungry gaze in her eyes makes his entire body feel warm. He swallows thickly, the sound of jazz beginning to become hazy as he focuses solely on the domineering woman in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you’ve told me a single story with an inkling of truth the entire time we’ve known each other.” Her expression is impassive, and with another step forward on her part is another step backwards for Calix. He can hear the beat of his heart reverberate in the back of his head, and a thin layer of sweat begins to form on his brow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s really, really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>excited.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...What makes you say that?” He croaks out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Women’s intuition.” She lightly trails a finger across his chest, making Calix’s breath hitch, and his back hits the wall. Her expression softens after a moment. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided I want to try something a little different tonight. Lying is awfully rude… And I think that’s worthy enough for me to extol a… </span>
  <em>
    <span>punishment.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Calix’s throat feels like an arid desert. Inwardly, a part of him is freaking the fuck out about her just calling him out on lying, but another is wracked with adrenaline and pure </span>
  <em>
    <span>arousal </span>
  </em>
  <span>that shoots directly into his groin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena doesn’t actually look angry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>just say about wanting to try something new…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shifts on his feet. “Y-Yeah… guess lying means I’ve been a… b-bad boy…” He has to bite his cheek to suppress the urge from letting out an embarrassed laugh, as well as fight with his lips from smiling like a giddy idiot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a smirk, Athena taps his shoulder. “On your knees.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix hits the floor with a resounding thud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” Athena says, smirking. Then she begins unzipping her pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix furrows his brows in confusion. She wants to do something different… and then does the same thing she always does? What was the point of—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he sees it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing practically slaps him on the face when it flops out of the confines of Athena’s pantsuit and Calix briefly recoils from it. Blinking owlishly, he takes note of the toy in front of him as he brain catches up with what’s occurring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ever sucked a cock before?” Athena cooes, taking hold of the toy’s shaft and then smacking Calix’s cheek with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Once or twice…” Calix swallows, now that isn’t much of a lie. He’s sucked one or two real cocks before, but when it comes to toys like this he’s not quite sure. Most women who want to peg him just stick it in his asshole and ignore making him give a blowjob in the first place. So this whole thing is </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically </span>
  </em>
  <span>new. Hesitantly, but with fluttery eyes, he grabs a hold of the toy and Athena lets it go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks up at her, her standing over him like this always gives him a bit of a kick but having her looming over him with a smirk and a strap-on that’s definitely on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bigger </span>
  </em>
  <span>side… well… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels his cock twitch in his pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena’s voice is as commanding as her eyes when she says, “Get on with it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Letting his… instincts take over, Calix crawls along the shaft with his soft tongue. He savours it as the head presses against his lips, lapping like a starved dog. He tries to remember how an actual cock would taste. The last time he did this for a man there was a pungent odour, which seems to be a running theme whenever he gives someone oral. His poor nose has been assaulted with so many individuals with poor hygiene that he obsessively makes sure his own genitals are squeaky clean every time he exits the shower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His lips slide along the length of the dildo, his tongue thoroughly coating the head and shaft with as much saliva as he’s able. He makes sure to be as loud as possible, hollowing out his cheeks when he takes the tip into his mouth to suck and, well, slurp. Then he goes back to licking around the shaft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nn… Haah… Ffgh…” He squeaks out, a shiver running through his body whenever he glances upwards and meeting Athena’s hungry gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silicone cock has no real taste, and yet his tongue delights in slathering itself across it as if it has a delectable flavour. His heart beats faster the more he diligently services the toy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hah, some punishment this is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Satisfied that the shaft is covered with enough saliva, he goes back to the head. Calix smoothly takes half of his toy all the way down his throat, furiously sucking on it. It’s big enough that the tip of the toy is already plugging the back of his mouth..</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ggkh...!” He gags, moving his head back so that the tip is just in his mouth. He pushes the head of the toy firmly against the softest part of his inner cheek and runs his tongue against it. If this had been a real cock, he probably would be peeling back the foreskin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His own cock straining against his now too tight pants, Calix reaches down to rub his cock. His whole body feels like it’s throbbing, and his eyes seem to glaze over with unadulterated lust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena chuckles above him. “You like this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nnn, mmh…. Yesh… Ish— my mouth’sh ish hull…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re slobbering like a dog, but I bet that means you’re doing your best, aren’t you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Mm… I’m… my besht!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pats him on the head, and he’d lean into the touch if he didn’t have a dick his mouth. He’s about to take some more of the dildo further into his mouth, but Athena speaks again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Put your hands above your head.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blinking but not in any position to disobey her, Calix does as commanded, even though the loss of touch on his cock makes him want to whine out a complaint. Though whatever complaints he had thought of is immediately obliterated the moment Athena grabs a hold of his hands— which, despite his current position, makes his heart flutter and his face feel impossibly warm. She brings his hands higher, effectively pinning him against the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She practically growls her next words, and Calix’s waist trembles from the guttural and really, really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>sexy noise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I noticed you didn’t have a gag reflex. Good.” Athena spreads her feet further apart, and there’s only one thing on his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is a thrust stance—!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His vision briefly whitens when Athena forcefully thrusts her hips into his defenseless mouth. For a second, he thinks his tongue goes numb by the abrupt and harsh intrusion that forces itself down his throat, and lewd pleasure boils up inside of him. His cock throbs, begging to be touched but also enjoying every second his mouth is assaulted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can feel his throat bulge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ffgh…!” Every time Athena pulls back, his spit is stirred up and begins dribbling out of his plump lips. When she snaps her hips forward and forces him to deepthroat, he simply wants to cry in jubilation. He arches his back with every thrust, and shudders in pure bliss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmfooh… Ffghooh…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She merely chuckles at him, which only serves to make his veins pulse with adrenaline and pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How does it feel having a cock forced into your mouth? Good, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix is only able to respond by moaning more, and looking up at Athena with pleading eyes that beg her to fuck him harder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her smile is downright predatory. “Maybe I should start up a new company. Something that’ll make dildos with touch receptors so women can feel how nice a blowjob feels, hmm? How nice ravaging a pretty mouth likes yours is?” She punctuates her questions with particular hard thrusts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his mouth forced open and thus unable to swallow, Calix begins building up a lot more saliva than before— it falls from his lips and wets his shirt. Not only that, but snot begins falling from his nostrils, and tears prickle at the corner of his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She holds nothing back as she gives him a thorough throatfucking. He has to squeeze his lips down tightly to keep the rampaging cock within his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing but intense pleasure assaults him in waves as she pounds into him without abandon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels as though his lips have become swollen and twice as sensitive by the rough treatment, but it’s so unimportant to Calix in this moment that he barely notices it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steadily grows used to it— he wouldn’t be a very good whore if he didn’t— and begins moving his tongue more purposefully, licking the shaft and base of the toy all around in tandem to her thrusting. Every time Athena pistoned her hips into him, his lips reach the base, and his nose nuzzles her pubic hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His tongue moves in circles, completely ignoring everything about himself as he focuses entire on her— it’s like his mouth has become nothing more than a hole for sex.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which is exactly what it is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix’s mind becomes muddled as his senses are assaulted by the sweat lingering in the air. His jaw aches from distending, and yet he noisily sucks on the cock like his life depends on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>More…! It hurts, I can’t breathe, I feel like I might hurl every time she thrusts in so deep!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Euh… nngh…!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is so good!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wants to scream it out loud, but all he can manage is, “Ngghkkh… mhgh!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix clenches his throat down on the toy, and in that moment Athena lets go of his hands and grabs onto his head, shaking him back and forth. The sounds echoing in the room are like those of flesh rubbing against wet flesh, despite the intrusion in his mouth being made of silicone. There’s nothing but dirty wet noises and Calix’s pathetic whimpers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s all a thoroughly vulgar display. Sensing that Athena might soon be ending this round of deepthroating, he squeezes his lips tightly. The hands tightly gripping his hair violently and wildly swings his head to continue to pound the cock forcefully against his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slobbers and sucks with all his might.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With one final and heavenly thrust, Calix’s lips reach the base of the toy and Athena’s hands keep him there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The seconds pass by.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels like eons, and his eyes roll back as his body twitches. The only he’s forced to keep still with this absurdly massive dildo in his mouth, the more gagging he feels building up inside of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He only needs to give Athena a single tap on the leg and she lets him go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falling limply to the ground, he lets out a hacking cough. Calix spits out a mouthful of spit and snot, vision blurry as he tries to compose himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. That felt so good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His pants feel like it’s about to burst at the fucking seams. Oh, what he’d give for Athena to actually ejaculate inside of him like she had a real cock. This throat aches like a bitch, but that just makes him all the more aroused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Honestly, it’s a miracle he hasn’t came yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking up with a weak smile, he sees Athena wears a brazen expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You liked my big black cock?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts a laugh, but it makes his throat feel like it's on fire, so he coughs instead. Which also just makes his throat feel like it's on fire. Literally everything hurts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s water on the nightstand if you need it.” Athena says, “Undress and get on the bed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he doesn’t need to be told twice.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>His blood feels like it's made of molten magma. He’s laying on his back on the silken sheets, his head on Athena’s lap and his cheek rubbing against her dildo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You sucked me off so nicely. But I want to make sure you'll be properly prepared.” She purrs above him, and Calix’s eyes fall to his lube slicked fingers as if this is the first time he’s ever seen lubricant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irresistible desire swells inside of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s about to turn over to get a better angle but Athena speaks up again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bring your knees to your chest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Briefly confused, Calix does as ordered. Then he quickly realizes why she wants him in this position. Athena grabs a hold of his ankles to hold his legs in place, and his face warms considerably when he sees himself in the mirror— because of course Athena has a massive wall mirror just chilling next to the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On his back, with his head on Athena’s lap… his cock, balls, perineum and asshole on full display because of the mirror… She can have a full view of every minute expression he’ll make once he starts, as well as watch him finger himself. He’s so vulnerable and </span>
  <em>
    <span>exposed— </span>
  </em>
  <span>Just for her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Always </span>
  </em>
  <span>for her. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels the pre-cum dribble on his stomach. In the mirror, he can see his ring of muscle quiver when he clenches and unclenches his sphincter muscles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, his lubricated hand moves down. Soon he begins teasing his entrance and he shivers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you played with yourself down there?” Athena croons, her smile telling him she’s thoroughly enjoying the show he’s putting on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He actually has to think about the answer. A part of him wants to lie and try to be sultry about it, but another part of him refuses to continue doing this charade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nngh… I… uh…” Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to try to answer while sinking a wet finger into his asshole, but no one’s ever accused Calix of being smart with his decisions. “Mm… I dunno. Ever since I started with… aah… with t-this job… I never r-really masturbated by m-myself…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s true. The moment he sold his body for the first time, he simply felt too uncomfortable and visceral disgust with himself to just toy with himself. He didn’t feel like he belonged in his own skin— and yet, right now, his mind becomes muddled with debauched desires. Being with Athena has steadily made him at ease with his own body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena says nothing, and Calix is simply too embarrassed about the admission to peak a glance at her face, so he keeps his eyes shut and focuses on himself for once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pumping his finger in and out, his actions make squelching noises. Calix stimulates himself fervently as his body feels like it’s floating in the clouds. Shame and desire mix together into an euphoric combination, and he adds another finger, prying his entrance further open when he makes a V-shape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rhythmically squeezes his muscles, and his clenching grows steadier the more he becomes used to the intrusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aah… haah...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sloven gasps coming out of his mouth begin to match his squeezing. His expression melts in pleasure, and his entrance gradually becomes slick with the lube. He tries to reach in deeper, seeing if he can reach his knuckles in this position. There’s a tautness swimming in his lower stomach that practically beg him to at least graze his cock with </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Literally anything, but as much as he would like to, he keeps his other hand uselessly clenching and unclenching on his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t been given permission to touch his cock, so he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which plays its own part in making feel all the more aroused</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> the growing wanton desperation and need to be touched will eventually coalesce into something fucking divine whenever he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>allowed to jerk himself off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, his eyes open to take a peek at how he looks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena’s direct stare from the mirror makes him hitch his breath, and spurs him on to pump into his asshole with faster and more erratic movements. His other hand moves down to grab onto one of his asscheeks to spread it in hopes of being able to fuck himself more efficiently.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He needs to be good for Athena. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be a slut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For her, for her, for her—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix moves his head to his side to lick on the shaft of the dildo. He’s not very good at it with unfocused movements, but hey, maybe Athena will reward his enthusiasm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-Y-You…” He gasps out, “You need to punish me..!” Calix attempts to bucks his hips, though her hold on his ankles makes the action more awkward than it would have been. She holds his legs up with an iron grip and she doesn’t budge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God that’s hot. She could pin me down and I couldn’t run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Each time he thrusts his fingers, his face twists in violent excitement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is a damn fine sight.” Athena’s voice brings him back to reality, and his tongue still slathers her cock as he cranes his neck upwards to look up at her. She’s got a single raised brow with a lopsided grin. “But I’m not sure this is much of a punishment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lets go of his ankles and Calix suddenly feels boneless. Athena gives him a theatrical shrug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh. Whatever. On your stomach, ass up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He flops over to his stomach immediately, relishing in her low chuckle when he lifts his ass up in front of her and wiggles invitingly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix bites onto the bed sheets when he watches Athena’s face morph into a dark expression of bliss. “Aren’t you tasty looking.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she definitely looks like she could eat him right up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants her to use him like a toy! Like a piece of meat! Like a sex slave! He wants to be chained to the fucking wall where his only goddamn purpose is to be violated!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...</span>
  <em>
    <span>But only by Athena.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He won’t accept anyone else, and he sure as hell doesn’t want her eyes wondering to someone that isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the tip of the toy rubs against his slicked up asshole, he doesn’t bother suppressing the slutty groan that comes out of him. He needs her to know how much he wants— </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs—</span>
  </em>
  <span> her to overpower every inch of his being.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>does she do just that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The large dildo just makes him feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>full. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He lets out a shaky breath as it enters him inch by glorious inch. He clenches down on the toy, the ring of his sphincter muscles feels like it’s fucking burning and it’s a goddamn</span>
  <em>
    <span> glorious </span>
  </em>
  <span>feeling. His cock feels so heavy just hanging there and he arches his back like a cat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for Athena to find her groove when she begins thrusting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her nails dig into his hips and when the toy starts to move in and out of him he feels like the wind’s been punched out of him. He’s so breathless in mere seconds, his eyes seeing stars, and part of him thinks his teeth are about to shatter with how he’s biting onto the sheets. He doesn't know where to put his hands, so they flail around before desperately grasping onto the pillows. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Ahh… haah! Ngh!” He groans, gulping down air every time the cock drills into him deeper. He hasn’t quite reached the base of the toy but he tries to move his hips alongside Athena’s movements. “Ahn! D-Deeper! More!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels Athena’s breasts presses against his back as she leans down to cruelly whisper into his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t tell me what to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her growl makes his toes curl in pure ecstasy. Then, as if he couldn’t feel even more pleasure in this moment, Athena’s hand snakes into his hair and tightly latches onto him. She snaps his neck backwards, making his eyes roll back, then she pushes his face back into the sheets and basically smothers him. He groans into the sheets, and intense, delighted pleasure strikes through him like lightning and runs directly into his dripping cock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena does the same thing again— pulling his head back by his hair before forcefully pushing him back down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She does it again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The softness of the sheets prevent him from experiencing any actual injury, but he’s still beginning to feel a little dizzy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that’s what just makes this feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good— </span>
  </em>
  <span>The complete helplessness, and the assertion that he has absolutely no power here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena stops smashing his face into the sheets, and keeps him pinned down. She swings her hips in a circle to drill her cock even deeper into his asshole. She moves with a lustful urge, like she’s seeking pleasure for only herself, even at the expense of another. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix tastes pleasure more intense than he ever had before as his body shakes. The air is wet and musky. Everything feels so hot and tight and so, so fucking good. He can feel Athena’s hungry leer gazing on his back and bouncing ass, and he’s further stimulated when she drags her tongue across his shoulder blades.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squeals into the sheets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nngh… mghhmm..!!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her next ruinous thrust finally makes his asshole reach the base of the toy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Calix just </span>
  <em>
    <span>screams.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The intense glee coursing through him goads out every little sound that escapes him, and his moans, whimpers and squealing drowns out every other sound in the room. His voice gradually grows higher-pitched the more she pounds into him and teases him. He focuses intently on making his asshole clamp down on the cock inside of him, screaming as pleasure overwhelms him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena continues fervently swinging her hips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S-S-So rough, nnggh… agh! My ass is going to break…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having sex with Athena elicits a joy like no other, so much so he forgets about his own straining cock. He’d do anything for her without fail.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders how much getting paid has to do with his feelings now.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Everytime she impales him, his slutty voice raises abruptly. Her fingernails dig into his scalp and asscheek. If his face wasn’t currently being pushed down onto the bed sheets, he’d be flinging drool around with every wanton whimper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His thighs shake— no, his whole body does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena holds back her pistoning and lets go of his hair for just a moment, and Calix can hear the sadistic glee in her voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aww, you’re going to break? Do you want me to stop?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seeing himself in the mirror, his dishevelled hair and glazed eyes makes him look fucking crazy, and the accompanying smile is one of both shame and excitement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his voice can only be described as depraved as his asshole greedily tightens around the thick and girthy toy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“N-Nooo! I— Ah! P-Please pound me haaaarder! Mhhf… I n-need your cock…!” To further illustrate his desire to be violated, he moves his hips back to slam into the base of the strap-on, squealing in the process.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena chuckles loudly. “Hah! There’s a good boy!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ye-Yeah! That’s right! I’m your’s… ahn! I’m your dirtiest, most perverted, best feeling whore! M-Meee—nngh…!!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She speeds up thrusting and skewers him, and if she were a man she’d be running to the finish line. She’d cum inside him, and his asshole would rapaciously drink it up. He’s reaching his own limit, he can feel his tightening further as his body prepares to ejaculate. He stiffens, head on fire, his knuckles white, his teeth clenching, all his energy shooting directly to his throbbing cock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O-Ooohghhh… I… I can’t hold back a-anymore!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then— Calix is washed over by </span>
  <em>
    <span>despair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because Athena moves back far enough to slip the toy completely out of him. Before he can react, or even realize what just happened, he’s roughly pushed to his side and then forced onto his back. In her arrogant triumph, Athena smirks with a slight narrowing of her eyes and a tilted head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gasps when she puts his knees back against his chest, and then pins him down with her entire body weight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a single motion, she crams her thick cock all the way down its base. Calix’s eyes become comically wide the moment he’s impaled, biting his tongue in the process.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“F-Fuu…?! Haah...!” Due to the pressured assault against his hole, a luscious throbbing spreads across Calix, and he fires off his voice while his entire body trembles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His back arches and his tongue slovenly hangs from his mouth as Athena returns to relentlessly pounding into him. She’s so obviously indulging in the pleasure of dominating him, and he fucking welcomes every sensation she makes him feel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every time she swings her hips, an obscene squelching sound emits from his asshole. Calix undulates his body beneath Athena as he attempt to keep up with her brutish fucking. He nudges his hips lithely, clenching down and hoping his complete submission pleases her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nnh..! A-Athena!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix is engulfed with the joy only a whore can have as he howls in delight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body spasms, responding desperately to her pistoning despite consistently getting the wind knocked out of him every time the toy is crammed back inside of him. Athena pulls back and drops her entire body weight onto him with every thrust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmph!” Athena raises guttural moans like a beast. Calix feels like he’s been stretched to his limits, and steadily he’s been driven into the corner of the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mfhogh… Gkkhg… Nngh…!” Like with his gasping earlier, perfectly rhythmic whining leaks out of his slackened mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And if </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t enough, a hand snakes its way between their sweat slick bodies, and an almost strangely gentle hand caresses his cock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>T-T-T-This is the first time she’s touching me there!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix’s handsome face contorts into pure bliss and he throws his head back from the extra stimulation. A hand is finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>going up and down on his length, causing his body to convulse. If there was ever a moment for angels to sign to herald a goddamn fucking miracle, it was now!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unconsciously, he thrusts his hips upwards in order to catch a hold of the toy as it slides out of him when Athena pulls back, but it’s alright— she soons slams back and drives the dildo back into his depths. The furious and repetitive slamming in and driving out of her cock is juxtaposed by the graceful and tender handjob she gives him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for him to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>driven off the edge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps sensing this, Athena orders out her next command.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead. Cum.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suffice to say, he’s utterly unable to bear it anymore and raises a magnificent scream ecstasy as all that he has contracts to a single point. His semen bursts forth and spills across his stomach and chest, as well as coating Athena’s hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels like he’s drowning in pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having his sphincter ceaselessly pushed open by Athena… and so roughly… His whole body quivers, red hot orgasmic satisfaction flowing through his veins. His body becomes numb, twitching with the aftershocks as Athena finishes wringing out every last drop of semen from his aching balls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Panting heavily, Calix is soon met with unmatched exhaustion. No doubt his splayed form— his flushed skin coated with cum and sweat— is obscene and uncouth. So undignified, and yet something that gives him the title of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>whore. He couldn’t be more ecstatic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it’s not quite over yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena bends down, and catches his lips in hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels impossibly soft. She pries his swollen lips open with her tongue. He lies frozen, mind hazy, as their saliva intermingles. The kiss is slow and soft, comforting in ways that words could never be. He moans into her mouth, and she draws back her lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks about how she tastes like peppermint again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their breaths mingle and his tired heart flutters inside his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Told you I like kissing.” Athena says, her voice low and husky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a miracle that Calix is able to formulate a coherent response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Another… satisfied customer… hehe….”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She merely responds with a giggle.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun rays pours through the cracks in the curtains, the light irritating Calix’s eyes enough that he begins stirring awake. Upon doing so, he burrows himself into the warm, soft sheets. He rubs the remainders of sleep from his eyes and gazes around him. He is first aware of the coolness in the air and he rubs his knuckles against his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he sees a familiar face sitting in a chair near the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena sits with a teacup in hand, seemingly having not noticed he awoke. The sunlight and the white gown gracing her body makes her look particularly holy, and the only thing he can think of is how much he wants to worship at her altar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cheeks flush upon remembering what happened last night. There’s a slight ache in his nether regions, but nothing too intense. It’s weirdly comfortable, in a way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Probably because it’s an ache she gave him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix runs a hand through his hair in quick succession. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I think… I might be… kind of head over heels…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena takes note of him, her brown eyes trailing his nude body and he shivers in response, growing even warmer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll definitely have to give you a hefty tip for the show you gave me last night. Thank you. And I’ll take you out for breakfast, if you’d like? There’s a lovely diner further down the street.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tingle runs down his spine. Unsure of what to do with himself, he nervously wrings his hands together, his mind again becoming slightly hazy the more he remembers last night. The money is definitely a nice bonus. And yet… something he had obsessed over… feel so far. He doesn’t focus on it at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In his mind he just sees Athena. In his dreams he just sees Athena. When his eyes are open he just sees Athena. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind quickly ruminates over how generally inconsistent their meetings are. She controls it, of course, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. But their meetings are sometimes weeks… or even months apart. What is she doing between those times? Is she paying for </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>whores?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body moves on its own. With a grunt, his knees hit the ground right in front of Athena, he stares at him with wide, surprised eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Goodness, are you alright—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please let me be the only man you fuck!!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, his face is fucking burning. Both from his sudden bout of groveling and also because he literally couldn’t stand. His legs are… a bit too tired to support him right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena merely stares at him, shocked. She blinks. Then she blinks again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wracks his head for a proper response. But, well, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a man of action… he should just come out with it, eloquence be fucking damned. The words tumble out of his mouth, each uttering just dripping with desperation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can cook, I can clean—” two things that are ultimately useless to say because why would Athena have him when she can literally hire professionals to do those? “—I’ll do anything for you. I’ll— I'll be your servant! Um, I’ll be your house—” The word </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband </span>
  </em>
  <span>makes him choke, as well as cringe, so his voice tapers off as he settles for a different word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“House-boyfriend… yeah, that, heh.” He chuckles awkwardly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence that blankets over them makes him want to sink into the carpet and disappear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t even bear to look at her, so he trains his eyes on her lap. Her hand eventually cups his cheeks and forces him to glance upwards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can only think about how heavenly she looks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And her voice breaks him away from his reverie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re pretty goofy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A slightly strangled noise comes out of him as he croaks, words failing him as a new wave of embarrassment washes over him. His throat is dry, and he swallows thickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Athena, angelic as always, smirks down at him. “You won’t lie anymore? As nice as it is to hear about you dyeing sheep with your fictional brother, I’d actually like to know you properly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calix finally remembers how to speak again. “Y-Y-Yes! I’m sorry for lying!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand moves away from his cheek, and he realizes he had unconsciously leaned into her feather light touch, and her finger boops the tip of his nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Boyfriend </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a bit too far out there,” She says, and his heart drops. Though her next words give him a ray of hope as he watches her smile widens.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<span>“For </span>
  <em>
    <span>now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyway. I think we can work our way up to that point and then some. I’d be happy to entertain your… request.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope the smut was sufficiently amped up. I'm gonna be taking a break from this series as I'm thoroughly burned out from writing smut. See you whenever I decide to post again.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Satyr and the Healer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by RandomReviewer19 - The gist of the story is a bullied orphan girl meets boy, girl is endeared by boy, they grow up together, and stuff happens.</p><p>Includes: Plot. Just plot. There is no smut in this as I didn't think it fit the overall ~tone~ of the story. And I just didn't feel like writing sex. There's some suggestive scenes but that's it. This is a soft/cute romance story first and foremost.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one-shot is 28606 words and 77 pages long.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Bernadette is enveloped by the dark indigo body of water. The sunlight that was so strong just seconds ago is a blur. Her heart begins hammering, increasing in intensity and speed, like a bird trapped in a cage. There is nothing but inky blackness as she keeps her eyes tightly shut, and she flails her arms around in a desperate attempt to reach the surface—</p><p> </p><p>She opens her mouth, gasping for air. While spluttering for breath, her feet touch the ground and she’s able to stabilize herself, no longer in danger of drowning. When she nears the shore she hears it, something she had become intimately familiar with since her life here pretty much began. It’s the shrill cackling of the three girls that had thrown her into this lake to begin with. It’s cruel, callous laughter that pierces the air as they point and jeer at her.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette glares, unmitigated malice swimming through her veins like lava spilling through a volcano. She doesn’t do anything however, no matter how much the desire to charge at these cackling witches threaten to overwhelm her. Her cold, shivering muscles won’t allow her to move forward, and she knows from experience that doing so would probably just result in her being thrown into the fucking water again.</p><p> </p><p>The one the middle— Ivette, who’s the little leader of the clique— tosses her fluffy looking red hair over her shoulder and a fat smirk slithers on her on plump lips as she looks down at Bernadette with spiteful delight in her eyes. “Watch out girls, with a glare like that the satyr might actually be able to curse us!”</p><p> </p><p>They break into another fit of mocking giggles. Bernadette can’t be assed to bother to remember the names of the other two, Ivette always gets a new set of ‘friends’ by the time she comes back to torment her. Which isn’t especially surprising— Ivette is the daughter of the woman who owns this town, so every other noble girl wants to be part of her group.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette mulls over the pros and cons of throwing a rock at these annoying bitches. Her mind reminds of her cold muscles and the distinct disadvantage she has.</p><p> </p><p>But the desire to get back at them beats out logic.</p><p> </p><p>With a grunt she grabs a rock and with whatever strength she has left she flings at them. They avoid it, but it makes them stop laughing, which Bernadette will take as a small victory. She gives them a quick middle finger when Ivette scrunches her face in a look of distaste.</p><p> </p><p>“Looks like the satyr still has a bit of bite in her,” Ivette spits out, and a crackling noise fills the air as her green and gold silk coat billows around her. “She ought to be taught another lesson.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ah, shit. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette quickly covers her face with her arms in a vain attempt to protect herself from what was coming. Ivette only needs to point at her with a dainty little finger, and a massive gust of wind is propelled directly at her. It makes Bernadette briefly fly in the air as she’s flung backwards with such violent force that it knocks the breath out of her lungs, and she unceremoniously lands back into the frigid water with a large splash. </p><p> </p><p>After more furiously flailing around, she manages to get back to shore. She can feel her cheeks burning from humiliation and she has to blink away tears of frustration. If only glares could kill— or <em> actually </em>curse people— because then she wouldn’t have to constantly go through this bullshit. </p><p> </p><p>Ivette looks down at her like she’s a queen gazing down at a peasant. Her smile speaks of nothing but vicious malice, and the other two girls stare at their leader with stunned awe.</p><p> </p><p>The status of her family is not the only reason this cocky little turd is allowed to get away with anything, it’s also due to her magical prowess. Despite being only fourteen— the same age as Bernadette— Ivette has the magical abilities of someone in their twenties. She’s talented, there’s really no denying it, and it’s fucking annoying as hell.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh Ivette!” Says one of them with glasses, her voice more nasally than the rest. “What a stunning display of power! It’s no wonder that everyone thinks you’ll be given a scholarship to the Royal Academy of Witchcraft when the Queensguard see you in action!”</p><p> </p><p>The other one chimes in, “Ritmia is so privileged to have you as its future governor! You’ll lead this city to new heights!”</p><p> </p><p>Ivette takes in the neverending stream of compliments, looking like a particularly pleased cat. She makes a show of wiping her shoulder to get rid of some non-existent dust. “Life without magic must be such a sad existence,” she narrows her gaze at Bernadette, “You should go back to the barn like the rest of the goats. Filthy little satyr.”</p><p> </p><p>Predictably, they break off into more annoying laughter, occasionally throwing other insults as they begin to casually stroll away.</p><p> </p><p>After several moments of just standing there, shaking in both rage and coldness, Bernadette claws at her short black hair and kicks at multiple rocks.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck! Shit! Fucking shit! I fucking hate them—!!” More expletives run out of her mouth like a raging river and she takes a nearby branch to break it apart with her hands. Then she crushes a washed up and dead crab under her foot.</p><p> </p><p>Once she’s spent her energy throwing a tantrum, she pants while her hands go on her knees. She’s still infuriatingly cold, her dirty and thin linen clothes with holes in them don’t exactly make the greatest protection against being flung into a lake on two separate occasions. She wants to break something else. She <em> needs </em>to break something else. There’s gotta be another branch of piece of driftwood somewhere—</p><p> </p><p>“D-Do you need a towel?” </p><p> </p><p>Bernadette blinks, quickly turning around with such speed that she thinks she’s going to give herself whiplash. A few steps away from her is a boy with a bit of a pudgy face and a sea of freckles on his cheeks. He looks to be of similar age to her, and his big brown eyes gaze at her curiously. </p><p> </p><p>She <em> would </em> think of him as kind of cute, but when she sees that he’s wearing silk and satin she grits her teeth. He’s a rich boy, which means he’s a noble which <em> then </em>means he’s automatically part of Ivette’s insufferable ilk.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck do you want?” She growls, and she relishes in startled expression that flickers across his face as he takes a nervous step back. </p><p> </p><p>“I heard yelling,” he says quickly, “I-It sounded awfully like someone was possessed, but instead I found a foul mouthed and sodden girl who probably needs a towel… S-So I thought I’d help...” His voice tapers off with a squeak and he fiddles with his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>She snorts. Growing up without parents meant she lived without a filter, which is apparently something that often riled up the nobility. She doesn’t care for shit like ‘etiquette’ and she sure as hell isn’t going to start any time soon. Tension plays on her young face when she realizes the other thing he mentioned— her sounding possessed.</p><p> </p><p>People already think she’s cursed, she doesn’t need them thinking she’s fucking possessed too.</p><p> </p><p>Without really thinking about it, she stomps towards the boy and he in turn begins taking several steps backwards.</p><p> </p><p>“I better not hear any more rumours of me popping up, rich boy.” A small flame alights inside of her, one of delight, when she sees him lift his hands up in defense. She’d never be able to feel this way with stupid Ivette, but it’s alright with him— he’s a <em> boy, </em>which means he doesn’t have the same magical aptitude as her tormentor. Well, at least when it comes to offensive spells. Men and boys generally only have an affinity for healing magic.</p><p> </p><p>So he’s a non-threat. Probably. Bernadette briefly imagines herself chasing after this little squirt and dunking his head in the lake’s water. If she can’t get back at Ivette, she can at least get back at <em> someone. </em></p><p> </p><p>The boy’s spluttering reply takes her out of her cruel imaginings.</p><p> </p><p>“W-W-What? N-No… I’d never s-spread rumours…” He swallows thickly, “Th-That’s uncouth… A-and papa always told me to n-never be uncouth…Ah!”</p><p> </p><p>His movements aren’t as graceful as his clothes, and he slips on a rock and falls on his ass. Bernadette soon looms over him with narrowed eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Tch. Uncouth huh? Then why does everyone keep spreading rumours about me anyway? You nobles are full of shit.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy squirms, the very image of someone who’s currently <em> very </em>uncomfortable. </p><p> </p><p>“W-Well… I don’t know about that… B-But I think it’s wrong…” He quickly flicks his eyes up and down as he looks at her, the action apparently calming him enough to stop his nervous stuttering, “Everyone says you’re a satyr… but you don’t have the legs of a goat.” The way he says it makes it obvious he’s talking to himself.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette scoffs. </p><p> </p><p>“Wow, I’m <em> so </em>glad there’s at least one noble who has a pair of eyes that actually fucking work.”</p><p> </p><p>Apparently, that’s enough to give the boy a sudden spurt of energy. He quickly stands up, causing her to stagger in surprise and he gives her a low bow, which just surprises her further.</p><p> </p><p>“I-If you stay here, I can get you a towel! I’ll be back in a moment!”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, he quickly darts off, Bernadette too stunned to chase after him. She purses her lips into a thin line as she watches his retreating figure, and the cold comes back to hit her like a ton of bricks. </p><p> </p><p>She sneezes, which is immediately followed by a groan.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘Get you a towel,’ my ass. He’s probably going to get girls as reinforcements. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And what if he gets Ivette to come back?</p><p><br/>
Fuck. No.</p><p> </p><p>Like hell she’s going to allow herself to be humiliated by a damn <em> boy. </em>With an annoyed huff, she wrings out some water from her shirt, then immediately sets off to run back home before he can return.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It starts like this:</p><p> </p><p>The world is formed in a flash of brilliant whiteness, and it’s seemingly lifeless at first. But then the trees and plants sprout from the cold, damp ground in a glittering explosion of vibrant colour. And so do the animals. And so do the people.</p><p> </p><p>And so do the satyrs.</p><p> </p><p>An evil, beastial race with advanced magical abilities, so powerful they were during the world’s birth that they kept humanity as their slaves for centuries. Through magic they kept them shackled. </p><p> </p><p>But humans are tenacious and voracious creatures.</p><p> </p><p>Through diligence and perseverance, the humans learned. They learned the satyrs’ secrets and rituals, and through centuries and generations of rebelling they were able to overthrow their beastial masters with a vengeance. The humans’ magic overpowered the satyrs’ and soon they were able to strip the goat people of all their magical affinity and aptitude. They were powerless to the onslaught that came from humanity’s thirst for righteous violence.</p><p> </p><p>The humans prevailed and became the new rulers of the world. But the satyrs were not completely extinguished, oh no, they live await in the shadows and in deep dark caves, forever fixated on bringing death and destruction to the beings that were once their slaves. </p><p> </p><p>It is said that if a child has no magical affinity by the time they reach puberty, they are cursed by the satyrs. Cursed to live their lives like their slave ancestors and to be like the modern satyrs— without magic and therefore <em> powerless. </em></p><p> </p><p>Regardless of the tales that surround the birth of the world and humans gaining their magic, it has been well documented since antiquity that satyrs do indeed exist, and they are dangerous creatures. </p><p> </p><p>Which really just pisses Bernadette off, because it gives bitches like Ivette the perfect excuse to use someone like her like fucking target practice. She can’t cast any spells, so she’s basically a satyr. Or at least cursed by one. It doesn’t help that she’s an orphan which just makes her seem <em> extra </em>cursed. </p><p> </p><p>And it also doesn’t help that she does, indeed, live in a barn with goats.</p><p> </p><p>She hears some <em> maa-maa </em> which in her sour mood she thinks it sounds distinctly like the damn animal is mocking her. She glares at it, saying, “The fuck <em> you </em>looking at?”</p><p> </p><p>The goat stares at her with its big and beady eyes, then it returns to eating hay.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette lets out a long suffering sigh.</p><p> </p><p>She can scarcely believe a race of sentient goat people were able to enslave anything. The goats in the barn aren’t all bad, they listen to her ranting for hours on end well enough, but she tries not to get too attached. These poor shmucks are going to be sacrificed when the Queensguard come visit the city as they scout out talented magic users to join the Queen’s Court. It’s this whole big celebration that happens once every five years and the whole ritual goat sacrificing part is meant to represent the defeat of satyrs.</p><p> </p><p>She takes another look at them, watching the animals eat hay and just laze around, utterly oblivious they’ll be getting their throats slit in five years.</p><p> </p><p>Sucks to be them, but she doesn’t have time to mull over a goat’s mortality.</p><p> </p><p>Stretching her arms out before her, Bernadette begins breathing rhythmically and slowly as she closes her eyes. She tries to center herself— something she had overheard when she skulked around outdoor magic classes. She’s yet to fully understand how one achieves this inner peace the teachers often mention— and then tries to imagine the element she wishes to control. She tried earth last week, and with the incident of Ivette still fresh in her mind, she’s going to try wind this time.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette stays there. She scrunches her face together as she concentrates. </p><p> </p><p><em> Come to me, wind, </em> she thinks to herself, ignoring how desperate she sounds in her own head. Her body tenses all over as the minutes pass and she hopes there’s some sort of energy flowing through here <em> somewhere. </em>With one deep inhale, she lets out her breath in one sudden yell.</p><p> </p><p>“Haaaah!” Her eyes fly, arms still stretched out before her and she glares at a bowl in front of her she wanted to topple over with the wind.</p><p> </p><p>The wind, of course, never comes to her. She doesn’t command anything magical as she just stands there, goats just watching lazily.</p><p> </p><p>Her arms fall to her side as her fists clench and unclench. Goddammit.</p><p> </p><p>In a fit of barely suppressed rage she punches one of the barn’s wooden pillars.</p><p> </p><p>Then she promptly falls on her knees, her fist quaking as she wheezes in pain. She pokes and prod at her now throbbing knuckles, picking out a small splinter and seething the entire time. Maybe she should stick to breaking branches.</p><p> </p><p>She sits there for a while, slowly allowing her tumultuous emotions to calm down. She leans forward to rest her forehead on the pillar, reminiscing on many different memories, all of which are hopelessly unhappy. It was bad enough being in an orphanage, but once she had begun to grow older and when all the children around her developed their magical abilities, it only got worse.</p><p> </p><p>She wonders if anything would be different if she did have parents. How would they react when they found that their daughter has no affinity for magic?</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette blows an annoyed breath, quickly standing up and lightly slapping her cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Get over it,” she furiously whispers to herself. There’s nothing to be gained from thinking about such pointless things.</p><p> </p><p>When she turns around with the intent of going to a nearby well to get water to wash herself with, she’s stopped dead in her tracks.</p><p> </p><p>The boy from earlier stands at the barn’s entrance, shifting from foot to foot and nervously glancing at every inch of the place.</p><p> </p><p>Instinctually, Bernadette brings her fists together in a fighting stance, “The fuck are you doing here?! Did you follow me?!” Her eyes dart around his general area, looking for anyone he’s potentially brought with him.</p><p> </p><p>The boy nearly trips over his own feet when he staggers. </p><p> </p><p>“Wha— N-No! I… um, I b-brought you a towel!” He thrusts his arms forward, showing a bundle of fabric in his hands, “A-And some clothes!”</p><p> </p><p>The seconds that pass feel like a damn eternity. Bernadette stares at him with an incredulous gaze, paying particular attention to how his eyes are tightly shut like he’s expecting her to punch him. When no one comes out hiding and it appears he’s indeed alone, the tension in her body relaxes. But only for a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>She lowers her fists, though she’s still got a scowl on her face.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>He hesitantly opens his eyes, looking down in the clothes in his hands, then looking back at her.</p><p> </p><p>“Um… t-the clothes? And the towel… It’s for you.”</p><p> </p><p>When Bernadette doesn’t respond he squirms and continues speaking, his stutter gradually ceasing.</p><p> </p><p>“M-My sister had leftover clothes she outgrew… Yours look dreadfully filthy, a-and I thought that it looks uncomfortable… So I got you some stuff. And a towel because… you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“How did you know where I live?”</p><p> </p><p>His expression lights up with a brief flicker of panic. “A-Ah…! I asked around about the, uh, satyr. They all said you live in the barn at the outskirts of town.” He wrinkles his nose, obviously unused to the musty and stuffy odour of goat and dried out dung. “Do you… do you really live here?”</p><p> </p><p>She narrows her eyes, still trying to figure out the <em> real </em>reason he’s here. “Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a twitch at his lips, a momentary smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! So you’re one of the farmer’s daughters then?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>Now his lips twitch downwards in a small frown. “O-Oh… M-May I ask where you’re from…?”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette shrugs, “Fuck if I know.” She allows herself a short-lived smirk when his expression becomes aghast. Scandalizing nobles with her language never got old, no matter the age. “I grew up in an orphanage and I ran away. And now I’m here.” </p><p> </p><p>Inwardly she bites her cheek. Why even bother telling him that?</p><p> </p><p>His brows pull together, standing there for a moment as he looks at a loss for words. </p><p> </p><p>“...That sounds tough. I’m sorry to hear that.”</p><p> </p><p>And— fuck. The sounds almost… almost remorseful? There’s a weird sort of genuineness that Bernadette is entirely unused to and it makes her skin crawl. Immediately, it makes her wary, and she feels rigid tightness form in her chest.</p><p> </p><p>“I do some jobs and the farmers give a place to stay and their leftover food. It’s not <em> terrible.” </em>She shrugs again. Farmers are less superstitious so they tolerate her existence. Just barely.</p><p> </p><p>His frown just deepens. “What sorts of jobs?”</p><p> </p><p>“Herding goats, scrubbing pots and pans, chopping wood.”</p><p> </p><p>“...That sounds tough.” He repeats and she rolls her eyes. There’s a weird feeling in her gut manifesting now, and she realizes this is the longest conversation she’s actually managed with someone around here. It makes her feel gross.</p><p> </p><p>“Just… piss off, alright? Go away.” She says, though it lacks her usual bite.</p><p> </p><p>He shifts on his feet, looking down to the clothes and up at her again, then hesitantly puts the pile on the floor, looking every bit like a scared mouse.</p><p> </p><p>“Um. You can keep those.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette finds she can’t help but ask. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>He looks at the clothes and then to her. <em> Again. </em>“T-The clothes? And a towel? I came because I wanted to give them to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“But <em> why?” </em></p><p> </p><p>He fiddles with his fingers, apparently now incapable of looking her in the eyes, and he squeaks out his answer.</p><p> </p><p>“B-Because you’re not a satyr… It’s not nice to treat people like they treat you… A-And it’s an Ophrey’s duty to take care of people.” His eyes light up like he’s just remembered something, and his cheeks redden with just the barest hint of scarlet.</p><p> </p><p>“My name! I haven’t introduced myself!” He quickly outstretches his hand, “I’m Cyrus von Ophrey.” He says it like she should know his family. She doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>She stares at his hand with a suspicious gaze. She does not shake his hand, opting to cross her arms instead.</p><p> </p><p>“...Bernadette. Just Bernadette.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus nods awkwardly, his hand falling limply to his side, and forces a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“It was very nice to meet you, Bernadette.” He gives her a small bow, before quickly adding, “Please take care of yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>With a final nervous glance her way, he heads off, and she’s left wondering what the point of the entire exchange was. There’s a weird tingling sensation on her skin and it makes her feel uncomfortable. Maybe that was some weird new technique at mocking her. She’s still expecting someone to pop out of a bush and blast her away with magic.</p><p> </p><p>She flicks her eyes at the folded clothes and towels. Now that just makes her feel even funnier. These clothes look way too fancy for her anyway, it’ll just make her stand out more than she already does. She briefly mulls over the idea of hanging these up and trying to light them on fire. Well. If she can ever get her magic to fucking work.</p><p> </p><p>Because she… she <em> does </em>have magic inside of her, somewhere. Magic always forms in a person when they hit puberty. She’s just a late bloomer. Yeah, that’s it.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll get her magic and she’ll be <em> awesome </em> and <em> strong </em>and she’ll be the one to fling people in that stupid lake.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette huffs. </p><p> </p><p>She does not touch the clothing.</p><p> </p><p>She does, however, take the towel.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bernadette sees Cyrus again in three days. The sweet smell of decaying plant matter and rain mingles with the cool and gentle breeze, which sways the upper branches of century-old oaks. This is the best part of her day, because she herds some goats up on some hills, which is far enough that people generally don’t give her any shit.</p><p> </p><p>The hills are a patchwork of green made even more varied by the shadows of passing clouds. They are every hue from new spring grass to deep forest pools. Some are more shallow than others, but most have steep paths that take her to one side of their summit and then down to the next valley below. It's a shame that shit like <em> shelter </em> and <em> food </em>forces her to go back to the city, otherwise she’d just live around here. </p><p> </p><p>She sits on a tree stump, watching the goats graze alongside sheep while she absentmindedly chews on a strand of hay between her teeth. The little… incident with Ivette the other day ripped even more holes in her clothing, so she knows she’ll have to try to convince the farmer’s husband if she can use his sewing kit. Preferably when the farmer herself is out doing something else, since she’s a bit of a stingy bitch.</p><p> </p><p>It’s when she’s mulling over the state of her clothes that she hears some soft footsteps, and the hay in her mouth falls to the ground when she stares at the boy slowly approaching her, slack-jawed. </p><p> </p><p>He gives her a small bow. He’s got black pants and a doublet with fancy patterning that makes him look older than he actually is. Smiling softly, he speaks, “Good morning Bernadet—”</p><p> </p><p>She stands to point at him furiously. </p><p> </p><p>“Stalker!”</p><p> </p><p>His expression blanches. “Whuh— N-No!” </p><p> </p><p>Eyes flicking to and fro, she quickly discerns that no one’s come along with him. Still, she can’t let her guard down. Her fingers flex, and she briefly glances around to look for a branch or rock. She then glares at Cyrus, who squirms where he stands— something that makes her lips twitch upwards, but she quickly kills her growing smile with a scowl.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you find me this time? Asked around for the satyr again?” She spits out venomously.</p><p> </p><p>He fitfully shakes his head. “U-Um! I l-looked at the barn, but you w-weren’t there… So I just started walking around… and then I found you…”</p><p> </p><p>She narrows her eyes suspiciously, then notices he’s got something bundled in his arms again. She juts her chin towards it. “What’s that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I-It’s food…! My papa always makes me a lot because I like to s-share with friends at school! But I made sure to get even extra so I can, um…” He <em> blushes, </em> which is something Bernadette finds some so fucking bizarre she has to stop herself from becoming slack-jawed again. It’s— He shouldn’t be <em> blushing </em> and not fucking like <em> that. </em>And why is her throat suddenly feeling dry anyway?</p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to give you some food.” He finally says and she blinks owlishly like a fucking <em> idiot.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Why?” She blurts out.</p><p> </p><p>“B-Because… you said you eat leftovers from the farmers… That didn’t sound nice so I got some extra food for you.”</p><p> </p><p>She could scoff. She <em> wants </em> to scoff. Here’s some pampered noble boy traipsing around the hills looking for her to give her <em> his </em>leftovers. She glances around again to look for anyone else that might ambush her, but again she sees nothing. None of this makes sense. There’s gotta be a catch. No one gives her anything unless there’s something to be gained— that’s just how the people here worked.</p><p> </p><p>Her suspicions must be palpable, because he speaks again. Well, he mostly rambles on.</p><p> </p><p>“Ever since I learned you’re just normal… I thought it was needlessly cruel how everyone treats you. I-I’m training to be a healer, you see… Because I’m an Ophrey and Ophrey men are a-always healers and, um, and healers help people! So I want to help! Not doing so would be an affront to common decency!” For the last bit he puffs out his chest proudly, and it’s obvious that little spiel was something he was practicing.</p><p> </p><p>But <em> ah. </em>That sort of makes sense.</p><p> </p><p>He fancies himself a charity worker. Not that it makes Bernadette any less wary of his intentions.</p><p> </p><p>She crosses her arms, eyes still narrowed. “Show me the food then, rich boy.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus scrambles to do just that, revealing an ornate lunch box that looks more expensive than the farmer’s entire house. In it there appears to be an omelette, cheesy with dark leafy greens, among some buns and what looks to be a slice of cheesecake.</p><p> </p><p>Her mouth is already salivating at the sight of it, and through a haze of growing hunger she asks, “What’s the green stuff?”</p><p> </p><p>With a boyish grin Cyrus raises his brows, opening up his eyes, "Stinging nettle, chives and dandelion leaves."</p><p> </p><p>It looks like nothing she’s ever eaten before and looks <em> exactly </em>like something she’s only ever dreamed about. Her stomach, annoyingly enough, rumbles as she begins to take in the delicious scent of the food, and she doesn’t miss how Cyrus now looks like someone who’s won some sort of prize. </p><p> </p><p>“...I’ll take one bite,” She draws out the words slowly, realizing her entire body is tense, and she snatches a fork that has some omelette out of his hands before he can try any funny business. She quickly eats it, not wanting to grow too distracted and make an opening for anyone, but also trying to make sure she can quickly spit the food out in case it’s poisoned or something.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t spit it out. She swallows it, the gooey cheese melting down her throat and briefly making her see stars because holy <em> shit.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Fuck…” She says to herself, “That was good…”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ smile becomes wide enough to reach his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m so glad! Here, you can have all of it. I’ve already eaten.” He practically thrusts the lunchbox at her face and she’s forced to quickly grab it before it falls. She grimaces slightly at the action, buuuuut…</p><p> </p><p>Good food is good food. And it’s something that’s usually hard to come by.</p><p> </p><p>She can’t <em> really </em>let this opportunity slip her by.</p><p> </p><p>So she scarfs it down. The sheer <em> pride </em> that forms on Cyrus’ expression is hard to ignore, and she’s getting the inkling suspicion that his father didn’t make this food. If he wants to use her as a guinea pig for his culinary training, so be it. If it means she can keep eating shit that’s <em> this </em>good, she might even allow herself to let her guard down around him.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette finishes the food quickly and hands the lunchbox back to him. There’s a small part inside of her that wants to thank him, but the words die in her throat since it’s literally something she’s never done before.</p><p> </p><p>...Saying ‘thanks’ just… feels <em> way </em> too embarrassing. So she doesn’t say it.</p><p> </p><p>At some point, they’re sitting on the hill side by side and Bernadette finds herself occasional glancing around for Ivette and her posse. Or literally anyone. It’s not really something she can help since she’s still sure Cyrus is just as big as a shithead as everyone else around here.</p><p> </p><p>Though when she looks at him, he seems restless. Not quite squirming where he sits, but he fiddles with his hands. He shyly looks at her, and evidently he wasn’t expecting to make eye-contact because a small squeak escapes his lips and he blushes again.</p><p> </p><p>Caught in the act of stealing glances at her, he stutters out what he’s been thinking.</p><p> </p><p>“U-Um… L-Like I said, I’m from the Ophrey family… and the m-men are always healers…”</p><p> </p><p>She raises a single questioning brow. He continues, and apparently gathers enough courage to stop stuttering.</p><p> </p><p>“...I couldn’t help but notice you have some scabs and cuts on your hands. May I…?”</p><p> </p><p>If she squints any further, she’ll just close her eyes. It’s true though, her knuckles are a bit messed up. She punched the pillar in the barn several more times over the past few days— yesterday was especially brutal because Ivette had cornered her. Apparently not satisfied with flinging her in a lake, she threw her a puddle of mud. </p><p> </p><p>Now, there’s a dull ache in her hands. It hurts whenever she moves her fingers. </p><p> </p><p>Cyrus speaks again, “May I heal you?”</p><p> </p><p>Her anxiety spikes up. This would be <em> the </em> moment— if he wants to hurt her this is the perfect chance. Lull her into thinking he’s got healing magic, when in reality he wants to get close and then he shoots a fireball at her. Yeah, he’s a boy, but it’s not completely unheard of that boys can manifest offensive spells. It’s just rare. It would be her luck that she would attract the ire of the only boy who can do magic that isn’t healing.</p><p> </p><p>She grimaces.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>He scrunches his brows together in an expression that suspiciously looks a lot like worry. It makes her chest feel uncomfortably tight and she doesn’t know why.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… Okay then. Sorry.” He says softly, and the two of them sit for a little while longer. He talks a bit more about his family, this time about how his mother owns an apothecary in the middle of the city. He makes a comment that she can visit it to get more traditional methods of taking care of wounds like herbs and bandages if she’s too <em> afraid </em>of magic, which just makes Bernadette wrinkle her nose at him.</p><p> </p><p>Soon enough, Cyrus stands and pats down his legs. “It’s starting to get a little late. I have to go.” He bows at her, “I hope we can see each other again Bernadette!” He begins walking off, but not before turning around to call out to her again.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! And, um, I guess the clothes didn’t fit you… I’ll bring my sewing kit next time to patch your holes! If that’s alright! Bye-bye!”</p><p> </p><p>And then he runs off.</p><p> </p><p>The feeling in Bernadette’s chest grows even tighter.</p><p> </p><p>She ignores it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The adults at the orphanage called her a girl of horrible impulse and irritability. It wasn’t entirely untrue. When she was five she had her first fist fight with another girl who pulled her hair. Bernadette lost. She earned a swollen eye from it.</p><p> </p><p>When she was six, she challenged the same girl to a rematch. She won that one. She broke the girl’s arm.</p><p> </p><p>At age ten, she watched the older orphans begin manifesting their magic. She wondered if she would be good at casting fire. She hoped she would be. The other children looked at her fearfully, whispering about the chaos she would bring once she could cast spells.</p><p> </p><p>At age thirteen, the children in her group began getting their magic. And so did the girl she always picked fights with. There was another rematch, one where Bernadette gets a dislocated shoulder and kneecap and a broken nose. She lost that fight. She lost it very poorly.</p><p> </p><p>Months later, and when she still didn’t have magic, the other kids started calling her a satyr.</p><p> </p><p>Then the other kids started using their magic on her, too. She had a reputation of being violent, of almost always having a coat of dark red on her knuckles, blood from another person’s face. Now, no one feared her.</p><p> </p><p>So when she was just on the cusp of turning fourteen, she ran away. She doesn’t know how long she ran, or where, but eventually she started living in a barn with goats. Children, it appeared, are the same everywhere. Ivette and her group are like the kids in the orphanage. </p><p> </p><p>It’s not like Bernadette takes the shit lying down. She can’t really help but be irritable and try to fight back. Sometimes she watched other kids play from afar. She could never participate. She had to grow up far quicker than everyone else.</p><p> </p><p>Once, she was minding her own business while collecting trash in the cobblestone streets of the city. If she brings them to the local dump then the trashwoman will give her some coins. Ivette practically skipped over to her, her very presence making Bernadette shake with unsaid rage.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette called her a satyr. There were other insults, too. And eventually Bernadette clenched her fist, a vein popped out of her forehead. She swung her arm. There was a gust of wind and her vision blurred as tiny droplets of sweat ran down her forehead when her back hit the wall. After ten minutes or so, she awoke, still lying where she had landed in the alleyway.</p><p> </p><p>She just stared blearily at the darkening sky for another ten minutes.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It has been three months since she first met Cyrus at the river. His visits are somewhat scarce, but whenever he comes to her he always has a box of food to give her. At first, it was the only thing she looked forward to with his visits.</p><p> </p><p>Now, she feels… slightly different about him. <em> Slightly. </em></p><p> </p><p>It’s a feeling she refuses to acknowledge. Her? <em> Comfortable </em> with someone else? Even vaguely? As if. At least the holes in her clothes have been patched, and she uses the clothes he had first brought her as fancy pajamas. They’re pretty comfy. Though it’s still a bit of an enigma why he insists on coming here every now and then.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette has learned some more things about Cyrus.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus likes to embroider things onto clothes, the fancy patterning on his doublets apparently being his work. He also likes to go stargazing whenever he can. And he’s stupidly attached to the goats in the barns and even has given them names.</p><p> </p><p>“I think we should name this one Salem. Don’t you think it’s a pretty name?” He pats one of the black goats, a male with large and proud horns. Then he returns to patching up a tear in one of her linen shirts.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette rolls her eyes. “Salem’s gonna die in like five years.”</p><p> </p><p>The gasp that comes out of him can only be described as one of shock and terror. He quickly holds onto Salem’s floppy ears to cover them, “D-Don’t say that!”</p><p> </p><p>“I bet he’ll be the first one brought to the chopping block when the Queensguard come over.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bernadette!! Shhhh!”</p><p> </p><p>She huffs, watching him coo at the thoroughly disinterested goat. After several minutes of reassuring the animal he turns to her, and she doesn’t miss how his eyes almost become sad when he looks at a new set of scabs and cuts on her skin. He’s asked if he can heal more than once, but she always refuses. Though admittedly, she finds herself refusing his service with less fervour, and at times she wonders about the point. It <em> has </em>been three months. If he had some type of ploy surely he would have done it by now.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus doesn’t ask about her wounds. Instead he talks about something else.</p><p> </p><p>“Want to go outside? I bet the stars look incredible tonight. Maybe we’ll even find the Neverrei constellation!”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs lazily. “Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>She lugs open the unwieldy, russet-painted barn door adorned with its tired hinges that creak like the moaning of cantankerous old women. There’s a small breeze of fresh air, and the idle chirping of crickets makes her feel… steady. Calm. It’s a refreshing feeling.</p><p> </p><p>And it's a feeling that evaporates immediately when she and Cyrus are about to go stargazing.</p><p> </p><p>“There you are. I’ve just been looking <em> all </em>over for you.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a spiteful little voice that makes Bernadette want to scream. She freezes where she is, and she hears Cyrus utter a soft, surprised, “Ivette!”</p><p> </p><p>Ivette’s alone, curiously enough. She bites the edge of a smile, and Bernadette is aware of her quirks to know she does that whenever she gets a funny idea in her head, a vain attempt to keep her creeping grin at bay. The intention behind her perking lips wasn’t something that could easily be ensured.</p><p> </p><p>Tersely, Bernadette glances at Cyrus. Her mind is screaming at her, telling her what a bumbling fucking fool she was to let this boy anywhere near her. This is it. This is the ambush that she had been expecting. She grits her teeth, and is quickly overwhelmed with the desire to punch Cyrus’ lights out.</p><p> </p><p>But before she can do that, Ivette practically prances towards him.</p><p> </p><p>Then she takes a hold of his ear like he’s some errant toddler, and harshly pulls, forcing him to bend sideways to an uncomfortable degree.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh..!” He grunts, body quickly beginning to shake.</p><p> </p><p>“Your mother and father were worried sick,” she says cruelly and with <em> so </em> much glee, “They’ve been looking <em> all </em>over for you. And look where you’ve been! With a satyr!” Her other hand moves to pull at his cheek, “I wonder if a satyr’s curse includes seduction? How sad! We’ll have to get your exorcised for that, haha!”</p><p> </p><p>She pulls at his face some more and he feebly attempts to push her away to no avail. She kicks the legs out from under him, then looms over him with her hands on her hips, and completely ignores Bernadette’s entire presence.</p><p> </p><p>“Such a shameful Ophrey! No wonder your healing magic is so pitiful!”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus whimpers and—</p><p> </p><p>And Bernadette doesn’t even think about what she does next. Catapulting herself forward, she roughly pushes Ivette who promptly falls on her ass. Her eyes are blown wide for a moment and Bernadette takes the opportunity she knows she’ll regret later.</p><p> </p><p>She spits at her. It lands directly on Ivette’s forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“Piss off!”</p><p> </p><p>Ivette’s eye twitches noticeably, and she bares her teeth in a growl.</p><p> </p><p>“You little—”</p><p> </p><p>“Cyrus!” </p><p> </p><p>Two adults come running towards them, and they’re both out of breath by the time they reach them. Their hair are a mess, their faces sweaty, and they both have features Bernadette recognizes— Freckles on the man, and brown hair on the woman. Cyrus’ parents, and the boy in question hunches his shoulders in an attempt to look smaller.</p><p> </p><p>The man yells at him.</p><p> </p><p>“I went to check up on you and I saw your bed empty and the window open! Do you have any idea how worried you made us?!” Utterly furious, he grabs by Cyrus by the wrist and yanks him up to stand, “We’re going home. Now.”</p><p> </p><p>The noises Cyrus makes can only be described as pitiful, and mostly incomprehensible, but he does utter a small, wavering whisper of thanks towards Bernadette before he’s quickly dragged off. Something sharp and dismal stabs at her chest at the sight.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette, who’s now standing, glares murderously at her. Cyrus’ mother taps the bitch on the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Ivette, dear, we should go back to Ritmia. I’ll tell your family what a wonderful job you’ve done in finding my son.” She cooes in a weirdly affectionate way that makes Bernadette’s skin crawl. Cyrus’ mother then looks at her, her expression morphing into one of palpable disgust that makes Bernadette shiver uncomfortably.</p><p> </p><p>Stiffly, Ivette turns to follow the older woman, and Bernadette remembers to breathe again.</p><p> </p><p>But soon there’s crackling in the air, and she has to quickly jump and roll away from a bright flash of light, the blast making her ears ring. Mind abuzz and heart nearly jumping out of her throat, Bernadette stares wide eyed at the charred side of the barn— a hole was almost blasted right through it. She can hear the goats going crazy in there.</p><p> </p><p>Lightning magic.</p><p> </p><p>She can feel the sweat trickle on her brow, and hesitantly she turns to where it came from.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette cackles from afar.</p><p> </p><p>“Stupid satyr!”</p><p> </p><p>And then she runs off to catch up with Cyrus’ parents.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette stays there for what feels like an eternity, too shocked to move a muscle. Her breathing is impossibly shallow as she tries to understand what just occurred.</p><p> </p><p>She later attacks the pillar for several hours, her knuckles becoming bloody and torn by the end of it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She does not see Cyrus for a month after the incident. She’s laying in a pile of hay trying to massage her throbbing headache that comes from her swollen and bruised eye when the barn door creaks open. She <em> would </em>be in high alert, but she finds she can’t quite muster the effort.</p><p> </p><p>A feeble voice gets her attention.</p><p> </p><p>“H-Hello…”</p><p> </p><p>The next that gets her attention is the smell. Freshly made bread.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette blinks blearily at him, briefly wondering if she’s hallucinating, and then the next thing she knows is Cyrus falling onto his knees next to her.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-Your eye!”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles humorlessly. “Ivette managed to find me while I was fishing. She’s got a group of new ‘friends’ that hang off her every word. Fucking bitch.” She leans forward to prop herself on her elbows, though she winces slightly from the ache on her back. Something else Ivette so <em> graciously </em>gifted her.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ lips quiver. “Please, l-let me heal you. M-My healing is… weaker than most but I’m s-sure I can at least fix your eye…” He eyes flick down to her abused knuckles and a whimper hisses out from between his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t quite have the mental capacity to formulate a verbal response. Cyrus takes that as her consent, and his shaking hands hover over her face.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a moment, but soon there’s… a green mist-like energy that comes out of his hands and it happens instantly— The relief she immediately feels on her head and eye is unlike anything else she’s ever experienced. The swelling goes down as well, and she finds herself heaving a long sigh of actual contentment.</p><p> </p><p>The weird green energy dissipates, and Cyrus nearly doubles over as he pants heavily. He clutches his chest with both hands and there’s a layer of sweat on his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I’m sorry…” He heaves a long breath, “I c-can’t… h-heal your knuckles… or anything else... I’ve r-r-run out of e-energy…”</p><p> </p><p>And that’s why traditional methods of tending to wounds still exist— healing magic takes a lot out of a man.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine,” she says, her voice softer than she expected, “...Thanks.” There’s a sharp pang of… something being lifted off her shoulders when she says that.</p><p> </p><p>Still panting, he pushes forward a lunchbox, in it are some golden and fluffy looking pastries with some condiments. He smiles weakly and nods at her.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette doesn’t need to be told twice.</p><p> </p><p>She brings the fresh, warm bread to her nose, inhaling deeply. It smells rich, promising a delightful taste. Picking up a knife, she applies copious amounts of thick, creamy yellow butter. She spoons out a dollop of sweet, tangy blackberry jelly. Evelyn slathers the sweet mixture onto the spongy white bread. She rips off a chunk, stuffing the piece into her mouth. It’s soft and warm. The pleasant smoothness of the butter blends perfectly with the bitter-sweet taste of black berries.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” she says after swallowing, “That was good…” She snorts at herself repeating what she said the first time she ate his food. “Your food is always good.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus lets out a giggle, light and airy, and Bernadette swallows again despite nothing being in her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>She’s hit with… uncertainty. None of this seems real. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have been upset that he was forced to leave. He should have laughed at her like Ivette.</p><p> </p><p>But how his eyes appear red-rimmed… that does seem real.</p><p> </p><p>And for some reason, it bothers her.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you here?”</p><p> </p><p>He frowns, lips parting just slightly but nothing comes out. He glances away, looking at Selma eat some hay before he says anything.</p><p> </p><p>“...Like I said, it’s an Ophrey’s duty to help people. It’s unfair how people treat you.” He looks down at his hands, his fingers filled with nervous energy. “I-I have a confession… My papa doesn’t make me extra food to share with school friends… I mean, that’s what I tell him, but the truth is that the other boys like to steal it. I don’t have the same magic as them.”</p><p> </p><p>The air is cold, and the moonlight that filters through the window shine directly onto Cyrus.</p><p> </p><p>“I can only heal, like, one bruise or scab… and then I get too tired to heal anything else. The other boys call me pathetic.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadetta just stares at him, finding she can’t respond to that. She joins him in looking at Salem. </p><p> </p><p>“That sounds tough,” Her throwing his words back at him makes her smile unconsciously, though it’s not one of mockery. Far from it. “Magic makes people assholes, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>He chuckles softly beside her. “I suppose so. You know, last week when my papa took me back home… he used the cane on me and I couldn’t sit for days.”</p><p> </p><p>That makes her look at him with pinched brows.</p><p> </p><p>“And my mama says I shouldn't be seen around you. But I guess that means I just need to get better at sneaking out.”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that—</p><p> </p><p>The loneliness creeps up on Bernadette in waves and threatens to drown her.</p><p> </p><p>Every painful memory washes over her and makes her hitch her breath. At last, she’s able to see Cyrus for his own sake. He’s a good kid. His intentions have always been pure. There was never a hidden agenda and that makes her chest fucking <em> ache. </em>He’s consistent. Predictable. Within the confines of this assurance, Bernadette finally finds his presence as comforting rather than disquieting and reason to be alert.</p><p> </p><p>She stretches out her hand towards him.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t shake your hand before, but I’d like to now,” she smirks, “Rich boy.”</p><p> </p><p>He pouts, though it’s with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Cyrus!”</p><p> </p><p>They shake hands, and Bernadette understands.</p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t be too bad having him around.</p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t be too bad being friends.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>By the time she’s sixteen, Bernadette begrudgingly accepts she has no magic inside of her. It’s not completely unheard of. Other people without magic do exist, except they’re just really, really, <em> really </em>rare.</p><p> </p><p>Of course she’d win the stupid no magic lottery.</p><p> </p><p>So she begins training her body in another manner. One where she can defend herself without the need of spells. She stops meditating and trying to center her so-called energies. </p><p> </p><p>She begins running in the mornings before the sun has risen, a self-imposed test of endurance that leaves her collapsed and heaving, her body lit aflame, her lungs as if encased in a tightly woven blanket of thorns that puncture every inch when she inhales. She scales walls and buildings because it’s a practice of agility and upper body strength. She jumps from rooftop to rooftop. She accepts and pesters others to give her odd jobs, jobs so menial that people don’t even want to use their precious magic on it—trash disposal, delivery, dishwashing, goat herding—so that she can start her own meager fortune. She continues punching the pillar in the barn.</p><p> </p><p>She still has to live in the very same barn, but she no longer relies on the farmers for food. She buys items in the food stalls, which inherently means she crosses paths with Ivette more often.</p><p> </p><p>But that’s okay, because that gives her <em> experience. </em>Experience in dodging spells and their interactions have provided her with the opportunity of growing thicker skin so she doesn’t react to every insult Ivette throws at her. She’s able to ignore for the most part, and that makes Ivette fucking fume.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette has yet to win a single fight, but that in turns just gives her stronger motivation. She will become better. <em> Stronger, </em>with her blood boiling to the point she sees red.</p><p> </p><p>Ever since she was made aware of the existence of training grounds in the middle of the city, it’s practically become her second home. She uses it at night, as during the day there’d be too many trigger happy witches that’d want to go on a power trip with her. She punches and kicks at the dummies, which are a poor substitute for Ivette because they don’t lug lightning strikes and bursts of wind at her, but it’s better than nothing.</p><p> </p><p>As a consequence, Cyrus usually finds her here now, always bringing refreshments. He doesn’t visit every night since they <em> do </em>still need to sleep like normal human beings, frustratingly enough. She wishes she didn’t have to sleep a bunch of hours because those are hours that could be spent hanging out with him and training.</p><p> </p><p>Propelling herself forward, Bernadette does a roundhouse kick and hits a dummy square on the face, though the celebration is short-lived when she doesn’t stick the landing, staggers, and falls on her ass.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus claps. “Wow! You’ve gotten better at this. You’ll be kicking these dummies halfway across the training yard in no time.”</p><p> </p><p>She responds with a snort, her voice becoming laced with mockery when she remembers something she read in the daily paper.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t they say that men are timid, delicate creatures that should be kept away from such rough and shocking sights like a fight?” She smirks, “Maybe I should check your temperature to make sure you don’t develop a fever from the oh-so terrible dummy abuse.”</p><p> </p><p>He puts the back of his hand on his forehead, knees buckling as he closes his eyes to pretend to feel light headed. “Heavens! To have witnessed such a rough and shocking sight! My timid and delicate nature can’t take much more of this!”</p><p> </p><p>He sits on a box in the most dramatic fashion possible, “To think we men are healers, forever cursed to see sights that make us tremble even though we’re meant to, well, heal everyone!” Cyrus huffs, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t believe people have been touting such nonsense recently. And all because boxing of all things has become popular around here.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, there’s one thing Bernadette does agree with— Cyrus <em> is </em> a pretty timid and delicate man. Not that she ever says <em> that </em> out loud. </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you should consider becoming a boxer?” Cyrus says, patting the box to tell he wants her to sit next to him, “There’s some fights that say strictly no magic. I think it would be a great opportunity for you. People can finally see your talent!”</p><p> </p><p>“Only if you become my personal healer.” She takes a swig of her water and wipes the sweat off her forehead. When she makes eye-contact with Cyrus he… looks surprised? His eyes are wider than usual, with his brows raised high. As soon as she looks at him he quickly glances away.</p><p> </p><p>“U-Um, and Salem—!! Salem would be your personal cheerleader too!”</p><p> </p><p>She scrunches her face, eying the lazy goat that’s made a habit of following her around over the years. Really, it’s unusual to see Bernadette <em> without </em>the company of the animal.</p><p> </p><p>Salem just stares with those beady goat eyes, then does goat things like laze around.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette snorts. “Sure. He’s just bursting with energy.”</p><p> </p><p>They begin to indulge in the food Cyrus brought, and ever since he stopped lying about his father making the dishes it just somehow got even tastier. Even though this time is just some simple pasta with some ground meat, it still tastes better than anything she’s bought in the farmer’s market. Maybe she’s just a shit cook.</p><p> </p><p>While chewing, she feels a gentle hand just barely graze her biceps.</p><p> </p><p>“Such rigours you have endured…” He whispers, brows pinched as he looks at a cut she had sustained after falling off a roof while trying to jump from one building to another. Not exactly her most graceful of moments. “May I?”</p><p> </p><p>She nods. He takes a deep breath as he concentrates on the wound, and soon green mist envelopes her bicep and she feels the cut begin to close, almost like it’s moving back in time from before she got hurt. With a shaky exhale, he moves to heal a scrape on her calloused hands, and then the mist dissipates as he quickly becomes out of breath and sweaty like he just ran several miles.</p><p> </p><p>For as much as he talks about her putting her body through too much, Bernadette privately thinks it’s a good thing. She trains her body, and that allows for him to train his healing. He’s gotten better— he’s able to heal a <em> smidgen </em>more than when they first met. It’s a slow process, but apparently that’s how it usually is when it comes to magic. Not only that, but the main thing that’s come out of his parents punishing him two years ago was that he’s become better at sneaking out of his house and lying to them. Bernadette will just call that a positive development in the long run.</p><p> </p><p>Her constantly finding new ways to get hurt also forced him to teach himself first aid, so really it’s not <em> that </em>bad. Her falling from rooftops and being flung around by Ivette benefits them both.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus moves to sit at her other side so he can begin bandaging her right arm and hands.</p><p> </p><p>“The stars look wonderful tonight,” he says idly, sounding slightly breathless, “You can see the Neverrei constellation again. You know, they say Neverrei is a grand phoenix that upon death became the sun, and once she reawakens the sun will explode and destroy the world.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well she better not be waking up before I beat the shit outta Ivette.” Bernadette looks upwards to see the sea of stars, all glittering and shining. Apparently they’re all Neverrei’s scattered feathers but she’s not quite sure she believes these types of stories. She’s seen phoenixes before, they’re not <em> that </em>great. Just glorified chickens that turn into a fireball. Talk about overrated.</p><p> </p><p>Still, the sky does look great, especially since this is a cloudless night. The stars are like brilliant pearls that sit as if cushioned upon pure black velvet. Neverrei’s constellation is the brightest, even brighter than the moon.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus chuckles softly beside her. “Perhaps phoenix is a much more fitting nickname for you. You keep coming back no matter how cruelly you may burst into flames.”</p><p> </p><p>“I try cooking for one time and happen to set the thing on fire and now you’ll never let me live it down,” she replies with a grin, still looking at the stars. “Say, didn’t you say satyrs have their own constellation too?”</p><p> </p><p>“They do. You can actually see it tonight as well. It’s that one over there, where it looks like it’s surrounded by a dark redness? It’s harder to see because it’s just darker in general, too.”</p><p> </p><p>She squints, and she does see it. She’s about to make a comment, but Cyrus continues.</p><p> </p><p>“Some say it looks scary, because it’s like they’re lying in wait to attack something... But I don’t know… When I look at it… sometimes the red looks like purple, and other colours. The way the stars twinkle, sometimes disappearing in the darkness only to come back brighter, it’s like they’re undulating waves... “ His voice becomes softer, almost wistful, “Just because something is called a satyr doesn’t mean it can’t be… beautiful.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette glances to the side, expecting him to dreamily be staring at the night sky but instead—</p><p> </p><p>He’s just looking at her.</p><p> </p><p>Though almost as soon as she makes eye-contact with him he quickly diverts his eyes towards her bandaged arm.</p><p> </p><p>She smirks. </p><p> </p><p>“I think you’ve become too partial to goats,” she juts her chin towards Salem, “Satyrs are humanity’s slavers, aren’t they? Saying shit like that has gotta be blasphemy.” She leans in, their foreheads touching and her voice becomes twinged with mischief, like she’s in on some inside joke, “I bet a saint somewhere is rolling in her grave because you just said that. Naughty.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s not quite sure why, but his lips quiver for half a second before they form in a pout, and he pinches her arm. </p><p> </p><p>“J-Just because I like the constellation d-doesn’t mean I sympathize with <em> real </em>satyrs! Geez!”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette responds to that by dramatically flailing on the box. “Mercy! Your pinch is going to kill me! I thought you were supposed to be a healer not a killer!”</p><p> </p><p>The two of them break into laughter. His laughter was so free and pure, so childish despite him about to enter his adult years. It came to her ears as a tickle and bounce. She found that quickly after their friendship was established that she quite liked the sound.</p><p> </p><p>After the laugh turns into soft giggles he whispers conspiratorially to her.</p><p> </p><p>“While we are on the topic of goats… The whole Queensguard festival is happening in three years isn’t it? I think we should… save Salem. I mean, you don’t want our goat to get sacrificed do you? It’s not his fault that satyrs happened to be part goat.”</p><p> </p><p>She quirks a brow, <em> “Our </em>goat?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I suppose he <em> is </em> technically yours since he follows you everywhere but still!” He points at Salem with a theatrical flair, the goat now looking at them again, “Just look at him! Do his eyes not say <em> ‘please save me from certain death Bernadette!’” </em>He grins at her, “He wants you to save him. Prove me wrong. You cannot.”</p><p> </p><p>“If Salem makes you that energetic, maybe I want him to get sacrificed. All he does is steal you away from me. Last time you visited you just spoke with him for <em> hours, </em>and I barely could get a word in.”</p><p> </p><p>She says it so casually and yet the effect it has on him is astronomical. </p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ cheeks alight in a deep dark crimson and he smacks her on the arm,— lightly, of course— shutting his eyes tightly in embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>“B-B-Bernadette! Stop teasing me already!”</p><p> </p><p>They break into more laughter, and afterwards they speak about the stars until the sun rises.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The warm breeze that blows by announces the coming of summer’s hottest days. The aroma of the tall grasses are an intoxicating perfume and really, this would be the most idyllic scenery for a picnic. Just perfect for a leisure outing. There’s just one caveat.</p><p> </p><p>The two women who are basically trying to kill each other.</p><p> </p><p>The ground becomes disturbed from Ivette’s violent wind magic. Uprooted grass and dirt fly with each sudden and powerful gust, meaning that Bernadette has to make sure to not become buried in addition to not being blown halfway across the country. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair that Ivette’s magic is so much more powerful than everyone else’s. Stupid fucking witch and her stupid fucking prodigy level of spellcasting. God fucking dammit.</p><p> </p><p>Evasion generally boils down to a <em> lot </em>of rolling around and jumping, which then makes her muscles feel like they’re on damn fire.</p><p> </p><p>She makes one, probably near fatal, mistake when her foot slips on recently uprooted dirt. She staggers, and Ivette only needs to flick her wrist to send more wind barreling towards her that hits Bernadette straight on the chest. It’s not a gust that’s at the same level of power as the others, and she can only assume Ivette is doing that on purpose as some sort of snide power play— she doesn’t need to use her full capabilities to knock her down.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette is sent flying, hitting the ground <em> hard </em>and with the breath knocked out of her lungs. As much as she desperately wants to stand and give this fucker a piece of mind, her muscles have reached their limit.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette looms over her, and the witch pats some non-existence dirt off her shoulder. Bernadette never understood why she felt the need to do that, and something about that action makes her the most motivated to eventually get back at this fucking woman.</p><p> </p><p>“You really are beneath me, satyr. Perhaps you’ll one day learn to no longer pick fights with your betters. Hmph.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, the absolute irony of someone like her saying that. Bernadette would laugh if she didn’t currently feel like throwing up.</p><p> </p><p>The field becomes calm when Ivette leaves, and she briefly wonders if people are gonna give her shit because of how much grass and dirt was disturbed because of this little battle, even though she had no part in actually destroying the greenery, but she’s long since given up in trying to reason with anyone else around here.</p><p> </p><p>She lays there, breathing slowly. She’s pretty sure the minute she tries to move everything is gonna hurt like a bitch and a half. She thinks back to what went wrong— she slipped. She makes a mental note to practice running on roofs when it rains again.</p><p> </p><p>“Maa.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite the current ache she’s experiencing, she smiles. She may not be an expert in goat body language, but she’d like to think there was a bit of worry in how the little fella trots up towards her. Salem stands directly above her, and she reaches upwards to scratch his nose.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maa.”</p><p> </p><p>When the goat lays down next to her, she hears another voice she recognizes.</p><p> </p><p>“There must be a way to stop this.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette attempts to lift herself up, but the ache in her chest flares up and she falls back on her back with a wince. Cyrus doesn’t waste in any time as he hovers her hands over her chest and heals whatever wound is there. When she feels like she can properly breathe again, she huffs and nods at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” she grunts out, blinking in quick succession as she focuses her gaze on him.</p><p> </p><p>Huh, the sun behind his head makes it look like he’s got a halo. Fitting, she thinks.</p><p> </p><p>He scrunches his face together in a frown.</p><p> </p><p>“T-This is serious, Bernadette....” He pants, “What if she… W-What if she kills you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you think I’m training? I’m doing it so she can’t fucking kill me.” She grimaces, “Fucking bitch always tries to find me when I’m minding my own business. She’s absolutely unhinged.”</p><p> </p><p>“T-The... People say she’ll be t-taken to the Academy… when the Queensguard visit… She’ll be g-gone in three years… can’t you just relax?” He breathes heavily, beginning to exhale and inhale through his nose now, and generally calming himself.</p><p> </p><p>She props herself on her elbows, lips pursed thinly together. “Yeah, that’s in <em> three </em> years. What do you suggest I do during then? Be a doormat?” She scoffs, “The only reason I’m still alive is because I’m fucking spiteful. That’s what keeps me going.”</p><p> </p><p>“...Surely there’s a middle ground.”</p><p> </p><p>“Like what?”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t answer. His silence is somehow comforting despite the conversation and speaks for itself, and a warm breeze passes over them.</p><p> </p><p>Well, time to break the tension.</p><p> </p><p><em> “If </em> I die, which I won’t, my last wish is to be cremated so I can have a smoking hot body…” She smirks, “And also to see if I’m like a phoenix that you say I am.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>His body slackens as he groans. “I suppose I can give you praise for the effort, though you need to work on your delivery.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll rise from the ashes, don’t worry about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I’ll be there to heal your inevitable burns once you do rise.”</p><p> </p><p>She chortles, watching the clouds on by in the sky.</p><p> </p><p>Then she quickly realizes something. With a sudden burst of energy she sits up, the rush of blood in her head making her feel momentarily dizzy. Expression twisted in shock, Bernadette points at a perplexed Cyrus.</p><p> </p><p>“You shouldn’t be here!” At his unblinking stare she flails her arms, “It’s the middle of the day! What if you’re seen?!”</p><p> </p><p>He crosses his arms together. “I don’t care if I’m seen. You were hurt. I couldn’t <em> not </em>help.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite her growing worry of him being seen with her, the corners of her lips twitch upwards. She can’t really help herself when she says “Oh, you care. You care immensely. It’s one of your many good traits.”</p><p> </p><p>She takes his widening eyes and slight blush as a victory.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, I appreciate your help, but I don’t want your ass to get another tanning from your dad because of me.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus looks as though he’s suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, “Must you be so uncouth,” he whispers before getting a small pouch out of his pocket to give her. “Here, it’s some coins so you can take some time off doing menial labour. Your body needs time to heal on its own.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, thanks, but nah. I’m good.” This isn’t the first time he’s tried to give her money, though she’s never accepted it. Something about it just makes her feel… odd. She feels as though she needs to earn whatever charity is handed her way.</p><p> </p><p>He pushes the pouch forward with a pout, “Take it.” His brows arch in a look of worry, “Please? For me? So I can sleep well tonight knowing you won’t hurt yourself picking up trash for at least a few days?”</p><p> </p><p>She barks out a laugh. “If you think I’m going to get <em> that </em>hurt from picking up garbage then I must not be training enough.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bernadette.”</p><p> </p><p>The near pleading tone of his voice makes her pause. She meets his gaze, and even if he didn’t say anything his intentions are clear from his eyes alone.</p><p> </p><p>And yet—</p><p> </p><p>She just can’t.</p><p> </p><p>“...Really, you do enough for me. You don’t need to give me money on top of the free healing,” she says, “You should go. You’ve been here long enough. Someone might come any second.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Cyrus sighs dejectedly. “Alright,” he forces a small smile, “You know, if you ever decide to try a career in boxing, not even my parent’s ire would stop me from watching you.”</p><p> </p><p>The cacophonous thrumming rhythm of her heartbeat suddenly sounds <em> very </em>loud in her ears.</p><p> </p><p>She flicks a finger at his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“Agh!” He squeaks.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re in luck, the spectators for boxing matches are required to wear masks.” She can’t for the life of her discern why she’s speaking as fast as she is, “Now go already.”</p><p> </p><p>He harrumphs, though it’s with a smile, and he pats Salem as he leaves.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette finds that her heartbeat doesn’t slow for a very long time.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At the age seventeen, she punches one of Cyrus’ classmates in the face.</p><p> </p><p>She’s busy rounding the corner into an alleyway after finishing a dog walking job— really it’s one of the few jobs she doesn’t absolutely hate doing— when she sees Cyrus being accosted by two boys who are wearing the same uniform as him, a striped grey suit with the emblem of his school.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon satyr fucker, what do you have for us today?”</p><p> </p><p>His classmate roughly grabs the wrapped lunchbox in his hands, causing Cyrus to wrench his hands back with a sharp grimace. “S-Still trying to t-take my lunch, what are you, five?” He says through gritted teeth, though the wobbliness in his voice takes away any of the bravado in his words.</p><p> </p><p>When the other boy, which she just names <em> Ass #1 </em> in her head, grabs the collar of Cyrus’ shirt, she just… moves. She <em> sprints, </em>with a fire that alights in her veins the same way when Ivette first harassed him. </p><p> </p><p>Before the guy even turns his head towards her, she already connects her fist with his cheek, the impact like thousands of venomous blades piercing apart her clammed fist. It fucking <em> hurt, </em> and she has to stop herself from outright wincing. It’s not on the same level as punching a wooden pillar, but still a damn surprise on her callused knuckles that definitely were <em> not </em>expecting to be used like this today.</p><p> </p><p>Ass #1 crashes onto the floor with a choked gasp, and the second classmate, named <em> Ass #2 </em>naturally, is about to say something but isn’t able to get anything out.</p><p> </p><p>Because Salem heroically rams the fucker right in the stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“G-Gah?!” Ass #2 falls harshly onto his back while clutching his stomach and spluttering a bunch of obscenities. His expression morphs into a look of pure mortification when his eyes dart between Bernadette and Salem— oh yeah, a woman and her goat, truly the stuff of nightmares. He better be fucking quaking in his prim looking boots.</p><p> </p><p>Ass #1 throws a glare at Cyrus with a smirk, “Your father is going to <em> love </em>hearing about this, satyr fucker!” </p><p> </p><p>At that, Salem bellows, and the two Asses quickly scramble to run away, and Cyrus forces a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“My father is going to kill me. And then my mother is going to resurrect me and then kill me again.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette rubs the back of her neck, giving him a similarly forced smile. “...So much for not being seen with me. Sorry. I couldn’t really help myself.”</p><p> </p><p>“No… it’s fine. It wouldn’t be the first time they tried to tell my parents I was with you. I’ve gotten pretty good at talking my way out of punishment. Though I suppose their bruises would make a more convincing argument now…” He sighs heavily, “I’ll live. I may not be able to sit for a while, but I’ll live.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives Salem a scratch on the neck as he cooes at the animal. “My hero, yes, yes, you <em> are </em>my hero.”</p><p> </p><p>While he’s busy giving Salem probably far too much attention, Bernadette's mind goes back to what the boys called him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Satyr fucker.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She swallows thickly. There’s a slight warmth forming in her belly.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Huh. Wonder where they got that from. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She clears her throat, “Guess I’ll head off. Don’t want anyone else seeing us and then corroborating those fucker’s stories or whatever.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, but before you leave!” He thrusts the lunchbox into her hands with a wide grin, “You might as well have this, since I can only assume my parents will be keeping a watchful eye on me tonight regardless if I can talk myself out of a punishment.”</p><p> </p><p>Before she accepts his generous gift, he lowers his voice to an excited whisper.</p><p> </p><p>“That was a really good punch, by the way. I still think you should try boxing. Like I said, there are matches where they don’t allow magic. I think you’d do incredible! And you can win lots of money!”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts. “You don’t want me picking up garbage but you want me to enter a brawl.”</p><p><br/>
“W-Well, I— um, I just think it suits you better, is all…” He breaks eye contact shyly, “And I can be your personal healer. You’ll be alright.”</p><p> </p><p>It sounds like her heartbeat is in her ears again.</p><p> </p><p>“...I’ll think about it.” She says, and the two of them depart. </p><p> </p><p>She thinks about boxing for many days.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It takes some more months of heckling from Cyrus, but Bernadette finally signs up to be a contestant for a small boxing tournament. The brawls aren’t <em> exactly </em>legal, so they’re held underground in the sewers and everyone’s required to wear a mask to obscure their identities. It works for her, really, it means she can spy a nervous and twitchy Cyrus mulling around in the crowd and seemingly unsure of what to do with himself.</p><p> </p><p>He’s got a goat mask, because of course he does. Salem’s even here, because <em> of course </em> he is. Cyrus spoils the thing. Honestly the lengths he will do for him, such as feeding him human food— <em> “Do you think he ever gets jealous or feels left out when he watches us eat?”— </em> to bringing him his own woven blanket and pillow— <em> “I just think it’s unfair that he doesn’t have his own bed.” — </em>Bernadette would admit she’s a bit jealous over Salem’s treatment if she didn’t spoil him herself. Maybe the two of them were over-enthusiastic goat farmers in their past lives.</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her shoulders, trying to take care of her nerves by thinking about Salem. Her hands are stupidly clammy. This is a good thing, she reminds herself. No magic, and it’ll give her better experience than pummeling a bunch of dummies will ever do. Maybe it’s because of the audience. Maybe it’s because that despite she’s wearing a mask she can only assume people will know who she is.</p><p> </p><p>Granted, it’s not like the name she gave herself is going to do her any favours when it comes to obscuring her identity. She had looked at the sign-up sheet for what felt like an eternity. She was stuck on that one question for a while— <em> ‘What is your name?’ </em> She knew the question wasn’t for her <em> real </em>name. It was for a title. A pseudonym. </p><p> </p><p>In the end, there was only one name she could think of.</p><p> </p><p>The announcer who had been hyping up the crowd for a while now finally gets to the main event, and Bernadette takes it as her queue to step out from the back curtains.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome to the stage… <em> The Satyr!!” </em></p><p> </p><p>It’s like her heart is hammering in an attempt to get out of her chest. She knows all the sparring in the world can’t really prepare her for the crowd, but the near dead silence takes her for a loop. Then someone boos. Then <em> everyone </em>boos. Screaming and obscenities are flung at her, but she tries to block out the noise. </p><p> </p><p>The announcer’s boisterous voice introduces her opponent, “She’s as big as a lion and twice as strong, it’s… the Red Rain of Pain!!” </p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t joking when she said she’s as big as a lion— her opponent is a hulking beast of a woman and Bernadette flexes her fingers. The crowd goes absolutely apeshit, and she knows— she <em> knows </em>everyone here except Cyrus wants her to lose. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a thought that worms and burrows its way inside of her, forcing her to keep thinking about it even after the bell rings and her opponent barrels towards her. Bernadette’s grey eyes widens to the size of saucers when she just barely avoids an uppercut to the chin. Her mind unhelpfully focuses on that moment, what if the hit connected? Would she have been knocked out immediately? What will happen to her if she loses?</p><p> </p><p>Everyone in the city usually gives her scathing looks. If she lost, would that give others the excuse to harass her like Ivette does?</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette ducks underneath an overarching swing. She hears the crowd continue to holler for her defeat.</p><p> </p><p>“Get her Red Rain!”</p><p> </p><p>“Knock the fucking satyr out!”</p><p> </p><p>She grits her teeth while avoiding another punch, and her knuckles become white from clenching too hard. Her body begins to feel hot— unbelievably hot and her blood fucking <em> burns. </em>The growing animosity inside of her rages through her veins and every little jeer and mocking insult she hears fuels the fire growing inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette is not the only person she feels nothing but spite for.</p><p> </p><p>She wants to beat the shit out of everyone in this fucking stadium, and that simple fact makes her body jolt with renewed vigour.</p><p> </p><p>They call her a satyr? Maybe it’s high time she truly embraced the title. She finds that satyr is completely fitting now, a perfect descriptor of identity, and something she will make into a title of fucking <em> reverence. </em>It will be a name of power, and she’s going to present to everyone in this fucking city how strong she’s become.</p><p> </p><p>A name of mockery will become a name of <em> pride. </em></p><p> </p><p>A primeval instinct overtakes her and suddenly Bernadette’s fist slams into her opponent’s face as Red Rain’s sinks into her stomach. Blood pools in Bernadette’s mouth as she swallows thickly and suppresses a grunt of pain, stars bursting into her vision for a split second. The two women stumble apart, and she narrows her eyes in determination.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that all you got?” Red Rains crows, her lips forming into an infuriating smirk. A smirk Bernadette intends to rip off of her face.</p><p> </p><p>She throws all of her body weight into another punch, her boiling antipathy humming through her veins. </p><p> </p><p>Red Rain ducks beneath it, but that allows Bernadette to counter her evasion with a swift uppercut.</p><p> </p><p>The <em> clack </em>of Red Rain’s teeth smashing together as her fist pummels into her chin makes Bernadette break out a near maniacal grin.</p><p> </p><p>She’s going to fucking demolish this woman. Her determination to win becomes an unconquerable force.</p><p> </p><p>She’s spent too much time making her body as strong as possible to <em> not </em>do just that. Her second fist goes straight to Red Rain’s stomach when the woman staggers, and soon it’s just an unstoppable barrage.</p><p> </p><p>She continues this battering until she falls to the floor. Her chest gently rises and sinks with each shallow breath she draws in.</p><p> </p><p>There is complete, astonished silence. </p><p> </p><p>Well… except for the clapping of a certain individual. Cyrus bounces where he stands, his noticeable excitement buzzing through the charged air and Bernadette just knows there’s an infectious grin beneath his mask.</p><p> </p><p>She raises her fist in the air as a victory stance, and the announcer splutters.</p><p> </p><p>“The— wow, okay, the win goes to The Satyr!”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette is pitted against four more opponents for this mini-tournament.</p><p> </p><p>And four more opponents fall at her feet.</p><p> </p><p>She has a bruised eye, blood trickles down from her nostrils, and she’s pretty sure she’s got a couple of broken ribs.</p><p> </p><p>But that’s okay.</p><p> </p><p>Because after she defeats her fifth adversary and raises her fist above her head, Cyrus is no longer the only one that gives her raucous applause.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At age eighteen, people begin looking at her just a little differently. With several victories in the boxing ring under her belt, she’s accumulated enough money to be able to rent an apartment. Not that Bernadette has stopped living in the barn, though. She <em> would </em>feel a little guilty of leaving Salem all by his lonesome, even though he’d probably follow her to her apartment anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Nowadays, there’s less scornful stares. She’s not quite sure what to call the looks she receives now. Something akin to bewilderment? Curiosity? Something like that. Not quite outright hostility anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Well, except for Ivette. That bitch is still the same. With her head held high, the witch blocks Bernadette’s path. As much as she loathes to admit it, Ivette has grown into a tall woman that’s just objectively beautiful, with her long flowing red hair and a posture that never falters.</p><p> </p><p>Shame about the personality.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmph. I should report you to the guard for engaging in such barbaric brawls.” Ivette says, and Bernadette barks out a contemptuous laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you watch me box do you? I’m flattered. If those are barbaric I have to wonder what you call this bullshit.”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t allow Ivette to make some snarky response because what’s the point in allowing her to speak? She came here for a fight, and she’ll give her one. </p><p> </p><p>Propelling herself into a sprint, Bernadette makes a quick side step to avoid a sudden gust of wind. She doesn’t stop. She <em> can’t </em>stop. She has to keep going forward and keep avoiding Ivette’s impending attacks with some fancy footwork— footwork that she’s slowly perfecting while in the boxing ring. </p><p> </p><p>She’s gotten <em> better, </em>she can feel it in her bones. She jumps, ducks, and slides over and under spell attacks. When she deems the distance to be close enough, she brings her fist back in preparation for a strike.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But— </em>
</p><p> </p><p>While she’s become quite exceptional with boxing, fists are not the same as spellcasting. Not by a long shot. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But I’m so close to finally fucking getting her— </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She just needs one more step, and then punch that smarmy fucking face, and as time seems to slow she sees the most <em> wonderful </em>sight.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette grimaces sharply, her eyes widening in shock by Bernadette’s proximity.</p><p> </p><p>Her victory is short lived, however, when she feels something furling around her ankle with a vice like grip.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette clenches her fist, then flicks her wrist harshly. Bernadette quickly realizes it's the literal wind that’s grabbing her leg, and she doesn’t have time to respond when she’s thrown like a ragdoll into a pile of garbage. Her vision whites for a moment, but she doesn’t bother trying to get up. One singular hit is enough for this fight to be a loss, the time it would take to recover is simply too long— if she tried to get up Ivette would just push her back down.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve gotten bolder. Perhaps next time I should break your kneecaps for your impudence.” As expected, Ivette wipes her shoulder and walks off, her footsteps echoing against the walls of the chalet styles houses. The trots of Salem can also be heard as the goat comes closer to inspect Bernadette.</p><p> </p><p>She lays there, though curiously enough, she doesn’t feel the crushing weight of defeat that she usually does. Instead, she keeps staring at the sky basked in orange from the setting sun. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I got pretty close. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She can feel her own wide grin forming.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m gonna take that as a victory. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sure, landing in garbage isn’t the greatest way to end the day, but at least said garbage is bagged and therefore she’s not horrible dirty. It’s the little things that keep her going.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you…” Perhaps that’s another reason she chose to stay here, because she knew he’d come eventually.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.” She says, seeing a slightly exasperated looking Cyrus with a bag in his hands. She gestures at it, “What’s in the bag?”</p><p> </p><p>“Clothes,” he grins, “For Salem.”</p><p> </p><p>“You bought clothes… for a goat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s become quite popular I assure you. Well, for cats and dogs, anyway. It’s like every hound has a jacket on nowadays. So I thought about it, and I decided to get something specifically tailored for Salem. Perhaps if he gets a dapper wardrobe he won’t be sacrificed next year!”</p><p> </p><p>He pats Salem’s head, “We’ll have you looking like a nobleman in no time.”</p><p> </p><p>With a huff, Bernadette stands, though she quickly finds that the ankle Ivette grabbed with her wind has been sprained and she can’t put significant weight onto it. She falters for a moment before Cyrus reaches forward to support her. He pinches his brows together in concern.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh goodness, I’m afraid I don’t think I can heal you this time. My sister had a riding accident— her hippogriff threw off before take off! Luckily she’s alright now, but I expended all my magical energy on her. Come, let’s get you to the apothecary,” He cracks a smile, “My parents have closed shop, and with the sun setting it should be easier for us to sneak in unnoticed. I know a secret passageway.”</p><p> </p><p>He glances downwards to Salem. “And I’m sure you’re just itching to get a look at it. I’m sure there are treats for you in the cabinets somewhere!”</p><p> </p><p>“Maa.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, lead the way, doc.” Bernadette says.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Turns out the ‘secret passageway’ is just an alleyway behind the shop. The apothecary itself is what Bernadette expected after her brief meeting with Cyrus’ parents— they seemed like people who would be obsessively compulsively neat and that’s exactly what she sees in the shop.</p><p> </p><p>Row upon neat row of dustless jars labelled in the same neat script with even strokes of the quill, every label facing forwards. On closer inspection they are categorized according to the content and then alphabetized within their categories. It’s not just healing items, but also ingredients needed for potions, charms, and summoning circles. Clothes too, as double lined, velvety, fur trimmed winter cloaks, to light linen summer cloaks hang on wooden racks. Brooms, cloths and feather dusters patrolled the room as if propelled by invisible arms, sweeping, dusting, wiping.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry about them,” Cyrus says after she makes a face at the floating equipment, “They’ll soon put themselves away.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette is seated on an overly soft cushioned chair, joined by Salem who gets his own chair, as Cyrus peruses the shelves. She decides to make some small talk.</p><p> </p><p>“I got so fucking close to punching her lights out. Now <em> that’s </em>what I call progress. I’ll get her soon enough.”</p><p> </p><p>“And when you do, then what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I beat her bloody so she doesn’t fuck with me again.”</p><p> </p><p>“And if she leaves after the festival next year?”</p><p> </p><p>“Even better.”</p><p> </p><p>He chuckles softly, taking a jar with what appears to be red liquid in it, “You know, I’ve started dabbling in making mixtures. Mere drops of this one can kill upwards to 50 men.”</p><p> </p><p>She guffaws.</p><p> </p><p>“Hah! Wow! And here I thought you were supposed to be a healer!”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m merely taking matters into my own hands. It is my hope that if I mix this in with my food my classmates will finally learn not to steal my lunch,” he says with an expression laden with mischief. She knows it’s not something he would actually do, and the two break out in a short fit of laughter. Cyrus continues speaking, talking about other mixtures and his progress in becoming a licensed healer at school.</p><p> </p><p>She watches him continue looking at the shelves, and her mind idly goes back to when she first met him. He’s no longer the short pudgy boy who made it his goal to keep visiting her in the barn. She takes in his muscles, clean shaven jaw, and tunes into his voice. It’s as deep as any man, but she’d also call it… velvety soft.</p><p> </p><p>Basically, he’s grown into a <em> fine </em> looking man and Bernadette is becoming increasingly aware that she’s been looking at him more as a member of the opposite sex than just a… friend…</p><p> </p><p>But that happens to everyone, doesn’t it? People grow up. Puberty does… interesting things, and people just wanna fuck. She tucks that thought in the back of her mind as she reasons with herself as to why she’s been pretty much undressing him with her eyes lately. Biology is stupid. She’s not going to pounce on Cyrus like a mad woman because he’s a <em> friend </em> and people don’t do that to <em> friends, </em>dammit!</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus reaches above his head to get something on a higher shelf, the action causing his shirt to rise up <em> juuuuust </em>a bit, and… she catches a glimpse of his bare midriff.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh god. Oh fuck. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She should look away. She really should, but her eyes keep zoning in on his alabaster skin. For a moment, Bernadette pictures him as one of those <em> special </em> types of waiters in those <em> special </em>types of coffee shops. The kind where someone can pay them a little extra coin and then have some fun with them in the backrooms. The idea was disturbingly enticing and she bites her lower lip in an attempt to keep herself in check.</p><p> </p><p>Soon enough, Cyrus kneels in front of her— <em> don’t do that, you’re just making everything worse, dumbass!! </em>— and he begins bandaging her ankle. Bernadette keeps her eyes shut, head turned to the side as she rests her chin on her hand. Fucking stupid brain doing stupid brain shit.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe she should go to one of those coffee shops, just to get these dang <em> needs </em>satisfied already.</p><p> </p><p>His voice invades her mind and she clears her throat awkwardly.</p><p> </p><p>“...Are you alright? Am I hurting you?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… okay. This should be fine for now, and I can heal you properly tomorrow. I’m sure you want to be back on your feet as soon as possible so you can box again!”</p><p> </p><p>She nods stiffly, now looking back at him and god, why is he still kneeling in front of her? This feels dangerous.</p><p> </p><p>Clearly, her gaze must be a bit <em> too </em>heated because he flushes slightly and squirms. “U-Um… is there something wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A lot of things. Probably. Maybe.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Nope,” she says quickly. “Why don’t you tell me about those mixtures you’ve been making?”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks owlishly, then nods. He stands, <em> thankfully, </em>and begins showing her various potions he had made in a cauldron, most of which have to do with enhancing his healing abilities. The awkward tension in the air never fully disappears, and Bernadette feels like Salem is silently judging her as he stares at her with those big, beady eyes.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At age nineteen, the city changes into a river of colourful lights. Music fills the air, festive beats lift the spirits and make the people want to move, jump and sing. The children wear whatever garish costumes they could dream up: fantastical creatures, faeries, angels, and of course, satyrs. There are often girls running around with wooden sticks, pretending to kill the satyrs who in turn act as dramatically as possible when they’re chased around.</p><p> </p><p>In the hustle and bustle Bernadette weaves through the crowd, wearing a goat mask and long flowing robes, and goes to the spot she and Cyrus agreed upon to meet— a marble statue of some mythical hero that holds the severed head of a satyr in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus wears the same costume as she does, though he’s dressed in white, and she is in black.</p><p> </p><p>She identifies him with his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Salem is safe and sound in my basement! I made sure no one will find him!” He whispers excitedly. Luckily for them, ever since Bernadette more or less became responsible for the goats in the barn, the farmer doesn’t notice that Salem is missing in the group of goats lined up for the slaughter. There’s more than enough as is, no one will notice one goat not being there.</p><p> </p><p>The animals are gradually led on a large wooden platform by women in ragged clothing meant to represent the slaves that rose against the satyrs. Just as someone’s about to begin shouting some rousing speech, Bernadette feels tugging at her sleeve.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, let’s go. I can’t bear to watch this.” Cyrus says, leaning in further so he’s basically hanging off her arm and pressing his body into hers.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, she begins to feel just a teensy bit woozy.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t want to enjoy the festival? Happens once every five years, y’know.” She says, thankful for the mask because now she’s feeling awfully warm.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus shrugs, “It’ll be on all night. Let’s just skip the sacrificing? I’d rather go watch the stars.” In that moment, one of the women dressed as a slave raises a blade above her head to bring down an unsuspecting goat, and Cyrus buries his face in Bernadette’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>She hurriedly— and very flusteredly, not that he’d ever know— escorts him out of the park and near the front gates of the city. They can still hear the cheers and music of the festival, but the sacrifice is out of sight and Cyrus takes off his mask.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I just wish we could save all of them!” He pouts, “What if I start a movement? Protesting the needless slaughter! Do you think people would be interested in joining?”</p><p> </p><p>“I dunno. They’re all eaten after being beheaded. Goat meat is pretty good, y’know.”</p><p> </p><p>“B-B-Bernadette!! You’re supposed to be <em> with </em>me, not against me!”</p><p> </p><p>They share a laugh, and she takes off her mask. The two of them sit on a nearby bench. While the sounds of the festival are still audible, they can also hear the crickets, and the whole thing is just… very nice, though that probably has to do with the company she keeps. She glances at him, and Cyrus is predictably watching the night sky.</p><p> </p><p>She joins him in stargazing, but not before thinking <em> he’s got a nice looking neck. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Can you tell which constellation that is?” Cyrus asks, and she follows his pointing finger. There’s a small cluster of stars that illuminates the atramentous curtain of the sky.</p><p> </p><p>“Nope.”</p><p> </p><p>He pretends to be shocked with a scandalous gasp, “How many times have I taught you about the stars and you keep forgetting? I give you an F. Anyway, that’s Ivani the Great Crow. They say she’s the goddess of wisdom.”</p><p> </p><p>She scoffs. “Who decides these constellations anyway? That looks nothing like a crow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em> maybe </em>if you had some imagination you’d see it.”</p><p> </p><p>“And wisdom? Crows ain’t smart, they’re assholes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Smart assholes!”</p><p> </p><p>She lightly smacks him on the shoulder, lips parted in a look of shock as she turns to him. “I think that’s the first time I heard you swore!”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He giggles. “Mother was right, you are a poor influence.” He looks at her, but only for a moment before he averts his gaze, eyes fluttering. “...I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette quirks a brow. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“You were… pretty scrawny when we met. And now you’re, um… you’re… big.” He turns back at her, his hand reaching out to give her bicep a feather-light touch.</p><p> </p><p>It’s mostly out of reflex— at least, that’s what she tells herself— but she flexes her arms, and maybe it’s the darkness, but she swears she sees his pupil dilate.</p><p> </p><p>“I sure hope I’m bigger. Would have been a waste of training if I didn’t grow some muscle.”</p><p> </p><p>She watches his throat bob. Ah. The tension is awkward again and she doesn’t know what to make of it. Cyrus returns to stargazing, and Bernadette continues to look at him for a short while longer. She takes special note of his freckles, those were never really something she paid attention to before.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about the stars, about how they’re seemingly strewn across the sky at random, similar to his freckles. Everyone talks about the stars. There’s always a romantic lilt in someone’s voice whenever they speak of constellations. That shit’s a big deal.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sure, stars are pretty, but they ain’t got anything on those freckles. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s only when Cyrus lets out a soft gasp and his cheeks redden does she realize she said that out loud.</p><p> </p><p>She had never considered herself to be a very elegant woman, but her subsequent quick and spluttering change of topic surprises even herself.</p><p> </p><p>“You should go running on the rooftops with me sometime.”</p><p> </p><p>But before she can formulate an actual, proper response in a vain attempt to explain herself, Cyrus quickly puts on his mask and fumbles out of the bench. Then, she hears it.</p><p> </p><p><em> Clip clop— </em>hooves walking on the cobblestone path, as well as talons. Hippogriffs. An entire fleet of them from what she can tell. That can only really mean one thing. </p><p> </p><p>Knight Mages, otherwise known as the Queensguard. </p><p> </p><p>Soon enough, Bernadette is watching a group of Queensguard perched on their flying cavalry walk out of the city, presumably onwards to their next destination to scout more potential witches to indict into the Academy. Their armour and robes seem to glisten under the moonlight, the very picture of regality, and among them is someone everyone has expected would join their illustrious ranks for years.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette</p><p> </p><p>When the two women make eye contact, the witch smirks. It’s just a small pouting of the lips; a narrowing of the eyes and a tilting of the head. And it speaks of nothing but arrogant triumph.</p><p> </p><p>And it’s—</p><p> </p><p>Fucking infuriating to look at.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette is suddenly assailed with the feeling that she <em> lost. </em> Not just a battle, but an entire fucking war. The small fleet of soldiers pass her, and with her blood boiling, she grits her teeth hard enough it begins to hurt her jaw. She takes a step forward, then another, and she’s just <em> so </em>close to breaking into a sprint to chase after the bitch but the hippogriffs break off into flight.</p><p> </p><p>Then she’s close to just falling to her knees in defeat, but Cyrus’ sudden <em> woohoos </em>of delight shake her from her stormy thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s gone Bernadette! Finally!” He excitedly runs to her side, throwing his mask in the air and giving her a tight hug that she doesn’t return. “Without her you can finally… just live! She can’t hurt you anymore!”</p><p> </p><p>His embrace lasts for several seconds as he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder, and when he leans back to look at her face she can hear the frown forming in his voice— she’s not even looking at him, instead she’s staring at the hippogriffs that are now small dots in the sky, soon disappearing into the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>“E-Eh? Bernadette? What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>She grimaces, fists clenching.</p><p> </p><p>“What was the point?” She says softly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What was the point of those five years?”</p><p> </p><p>“W-What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“I spent five years training. Five years practically ripping my body apart.” Out of growing frustration she steps back, and angrily kicks at the ground, her jaw feeling far too tight. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted to do was to get back at her. That was… the reason I did everything…” </p><p> </p><p>Mountains upon mountains of pressure threatened to rip the pit of her stomach, to rip open the unfathomable disappointment that’s beginning to swallow her. Suddenly, her very presence exemplified the epitome of failure.</p><p> </p><p>“What was the fucking point?! Did the past five years mean <em> anything?! </em> She’s gone and I was never able to beat her! <em> ” </em></p><p> </p><p>She feels a light touch on her shoulder, and for a moment she ceases her rambling to look at Cyrus’ face, seeing his eyes showing a gentle kind of concern.</p><p> </p><p>“I think there were a lot of points in those five years. For one, you smile a lot more than when you were fourteen.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette’s brows scrunch together as she harshly scoffs.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t accomplish anything—”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“You’re the reigning champion in non-magic boxing, I’d call that a pretty big accomplishment.”</p><p> </p><p>“I only did that to train to beat Ivette—”</p><p> </p><p>“You can still beat her.”</p><p> </p><p>She can’t suppress her annoyed eye roll, and lightly smacks his hand off her shoulder. Running a hand through her hair, she exhales deeply. She wanted to beat her. More than anything. It was like the two of them were running a race but Ivette had a horse while Bernadette was on foot.</p><p> </p><p>She wanted revenge. And yet…</p><p> </p><p>Her mouth runs dry and her stomach turns in an unfriendly way. Vengeance was the main motivator, and still is, but deep down she knows that more than anything she just wants to be acknowledged by someone like Ivette— that she <em> can </em> be worth something in a world with magic. She wants, <em> more than anything, </em> to be held at the same regard as mages.</p><p> </p><p>Because then, she would feel like she can live a worthwhile life.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ face invades her field of vision, he’s got his hands on his hips with an expression that borders on scolding.</p><p> </p><p>“Why should Ivette be in the middle of everything? Why does <em> she </em>have to matter? You can beat her by forgetting about her, by showing her she doesn’t matter as much as she likes to think she does.”</p><p> </p><p>Her jaw tenses, about to scoff again, but his soft smile makes her bite down her retort. Whatever discomfort was in her stomach is replaced by butterflies and she purses her lips into a thin line. There’s just such an undeniable feeling of <em> care </em> that comes off from Cyrus that roots her to the spot.</p><p> </p><p>He pauses, head tilting toward the already black sky. The moonlight streams down upon his wintry pale skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you should start living for yourself, not for Ivette.”</p><p> </p><p>Before his words can fully cement into her mind, he smiles and grabs both of her hands, his voice full of mirth.</p><p> </p><p>“So her leaving also marks the day you start living for yourself! And I think that’s a cause for celebration, and I know how to do just that!”</p><p> </p><p>His smile continues to grow wide and momentous. Bernadette can see it coming from deep inside of him with how his eyes seem to shine just a little brighter, and she can hear it in his voice and see it in how his body relaxes. <em> Ah. </em>Her heart is beating impossibly fast again.</p><p> </p><p>It’s beautiful. <em> He’s </em>beautiful, and that makes her lips quiver and a warmth rush inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus begins pulling her back to the city entrance, his expression never faltering.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s go running on the rooftops!”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The feeling that Bernadette failed an important goal in life never quite leaves her, even months after the festival. But it does lessen. She hopes it’ll become dull enough where she no longer feels it.</p><p> </p><p>She’s got a life that’s hers to live, afterall. </p><p> </p><p>The night at the festival left her a lot to think of, but she’s still got a lot of pent up frustration so she ends up making the training grounds look like a tornado passed through it. Ever since Ivette left, she’s has no reason to train in the middle of the night. She trains whenever the hell she feels like it.</p><p> </p><p>And if people look at her funny? Fuck them. Except the reason they stare at her slowly begin to morph into something else— it’s not the disgust she’s used to, it transforms into… well, adoration might be a bit <em> much, </em>but it sure is getting there.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s The Satyr, isn’t it? The current champion?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, apparently she’s got no magic.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?! That’s impossible. Have you seen the craters she’s made in the ground when she trains? How about that one time she basically ripped a tree in half?”</p><p> </p><p>“Have <em> you </em>seen her use magic? She’s only ever used her fists!”</p><p> </p><p>“I heard she wrestled a chimera and <em> won.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Bernadette can’t really help but grin at the gossip that’s since become commonplace around her. Maybe Ivette’s departure didn’t just affect her. The other women in the training grounds wear a mixed expression of awe and fear— similar to how they looked at Ivette.</p><p> </p><p>...Maybe she could get used to this. Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>“Maa.”</p><p> </p><p>After snapping another training dummy in two, she nods at Salem. “What? Got any complaints on my form, old man?” She doesn’t know how old the goat actually is— or how long they live, for that matter— but she can only assume he’s beginning to get there in age. She and Cyrus have since brought him back to the barn, and if the farmer has noticed a goat that was missing was suspiciously back, she hasn’t made a peep.</p><p> </p><p>Salem tilts his head. “Maa.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette nods sagely. “Hmm… Yes, you’re right. My chin was too exposed during my jab. I need to land a counter jab or counter right cross.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aha, so you <em> do </em>have magic. It must come in the form in speaking with animals.”</p><p> </p><p>Out of instinct, Bernadette spins on her heel to the direction to the voice, fists raised defensively. </p><p> </p><p>In front of her is a woman with long black hair tied back in a tight ponytail. Her plain clothes tells Bernadette that she’s a commoner, and the woman raises her hands in mock defense. </p><p> </p><p>“Woah, I don’t want a fight,” she smiles, “Though I wouldn’t mind some sparring with the local underground champion.”</p><p> </p><p>At Bernadette’s suspicious gaze, she continues.</p><p> </p><p>“According to everyone around here you’ve brought terrifying feats of destruction onto these poor training grounds. Really, those dummies never stood a chance.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want?” Bernadette’s arms fall to her side, and she narrows her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, like I said, I wouldn’t mind sparring.” The woman outstretches her hand, “I’m Raenelle. You?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of hesitance on Bernadette’s part, since it’s been literally years since she last shook someone’s hands. In the back of her mind she imagines Raenelle pulling some shit like  Ivette. Her body tenses, but she does shake the woman’s hand.</p><p> </p><p>“...I’m Bernadette.”</p><p> </p><p>Nothing happens, except for Raenelle smiling. There is no scorn behind it. </p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, let’s go to the part of the training grounds you <em> haven’t </em>obliterated yet, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette quickly learns that Raenelle specializes in water magic, but the sparring isn’t one-sided in the slightest. It makes her muscles burn in exertion, but it feels… <em> right. </em>Good even. To be treated as… an equal? By someone who isn’t Cyrus? Has Ivette leaving really just… changed everything? </p><p> </p><p>The two women fight for hours. Eventually, Raenelle wipes the sweat from her brow.</p><p> </p><p>“Whew! That was good, mate! Wanna spar again tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, Bernadette makes another friend.</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, she thinks she might feel like she actually belongs somewhere for the first time in her life.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>By the time she’s twenty-one, Bernadette decides it’s high time she gets her own apartment. She bidded the farmer farewell, and Salem followed her to her new suite. Now comes the process of actually getting <em> furniture, </em>something that has been so foreign to her that she completely forgot about that little tidbit until she actually got to the apartment.</p><p> </p><p>No matter. She and Cyrus are going shopping just for that particular problem. In the middle of the <em> day, </em>no less. They still mostly hang out at night, but apparently his parents have become less stringent with who he spends his time with lately. Only took them almost a decade but hey, progress is progress.</p><p> </p><p>She rounds a corner as she strolls towards the marketplace. There’s a couple of people mulling around, but one figure catches her eye.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette is about to wave and jog towards Cyrus, but something stops her— that something being another woman walking up to him. She doesn’t see her face, only her back, but she’s got short brown hair and awfully regal looking purple robes.</p><p> </p><p>The two obviously don’t notice her, and Bernadette finds she can’t make another step. She’s not close enough to hear their ensuing conversation, but it’s obvious Cyrus breaks out in laughter. With another woman. Who <em> isn’t </em>her.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette suddenly feels very conscious of her plain linen clothing when she takes another look at that woman’s robes.</p><p> </p><p>Her jaw then tenses when the woman raises her hand and then she sees green. From Cyrus’ hands! He’s healing her! <em> Her!! </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Who the fuck is this woman? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That— That’s not right. It can’t be.</p><p> </p><p><em> He’s </em> my <em> healer. </em></p><p> </p><p>The more she dwells on the notion of this woman, the more she wants her to fail and be miserable. Fail at what? Bernadette doesn’t have a fucking clue. She just knows she hates whoever this is. She better not be Ivette 2.0 or else Bernadette thinks she might get an aneurysm. </p><p> </p><p>She prowls over to the two, and without much thought put into her actions, she clutches onto the woman’s shoulder and roughly turns her around.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever bravado she had built up disappears like a wisp of smoke when she sees a face full of freckles.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah! Bernadette! There you are. This is my sister, Clarise.”</p><p> </p><p>His sister nods at her, though there’s a slight wince on her expression, probably from her pull on her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“...Oh.” Bernadette replies flatly, then clears her throat. “Uh. Hi.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus gives her a <em> look. </em>“What did I say about getting enough sleep while moving to your new apartment? Clearly you didn’t get enough if that response is anything to go by!” He waggles an admonishing finger, “The first thing we ought to get you is a bed.”</p><p> </p><p>Clarise gives her an awkward smile. “...I would love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I must be on my way. Goodbye, Cyrus. I’ll see you at dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>She begins walking off, but for a moment Bernadette thinks she sees the woman scowl at her in the corner of her vision.</p><p> </p><p>She isn’t given a second to ruminate over that, since Cyrus grabs her hand and begins dragging her off.</p><p> </p><p>“My sister sprained her wrist from writing reports? Can you believe that?” He grins widely, “And I didn’t get so winded after healing her! I’m getting better!”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s great.” Is her dry response, and he begins to talk her ear off, intermittently speaking with Salem in the process. Bernadette, meanwhile, goes back on her prior thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He’s my healer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It… seemed like such an afterthought. A mere statement of <em> fact. </em> Now, however, it takes all of her willpower to not get red in the face. Was that—? Was that <em> really </em>what she thinks it was?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I was… jealous… over his own sister… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about that for the next several hours.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bernadette dislocates her shoulder in the training grounds. Intentionally.</p><p> </p><p>Because she thinks it’s a sufficient enough energy to make Cyrus… well, it’s enough for him to expend his magical energy for the day. He heals her in the suspiciously empty training grounds, sweat forming on his brow as her wound is repaired. Being healed is always a bit of a surreal feeling, but this time— she doesn’t feel a thing.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe because she’s far too interested in focusing on his heavy breathing. The panting flutters out of his <em> delicious </em>lips and he sounds like someone’s who’s gotten so very winded after a long romp under the bedsheets. That coupled with his sweat, his completely vulnerable expression… it’s so… it’s so—</p><p> </p><p>It’s so very erotic.</p><p> </p><p>She licks her lips, taking a quick swig of her whiskey in a flask— wait, when did she start drinking alcohol?— then passes it over to him. “Thanks. Here, have some. Might help you catch your breath.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ pupils dilate noticeably as he glances at the flask, then takes it, their fingers touching for a moment and Bernadette swears she can feel the electric spark between them.</p><p> </p><p>And suffice to say, he drinks the whiskey very… interestingly.</p><p> </p><p>His tongue darts in and out and around the rim of the flask. His mouth stays on it absolutely longer than what’s necessary. He’s <em> savouring </em>it— and it’s not the taste of the whiskey he’s savouring.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s done essentially tongue fucking the thing, he flutters his eyelashes at her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m feeling so much better now… thanks,” he says slowly, one of his hands caressing her arm, “You really destroyed these training grounds... “ He breaks eye contact shyly, looking down at the flask. “I’ve never seen this place so obliterated. Not even with magic. You just so… <em> so </em>strong.”</p><p> </p><p>His face becomes basked in a deep scarlet, and a lilt in his voice speaks of nothing but a dire need. Bernadette responds by putting her hand on his cheek, tilting his head back so he looks at her again. His eyes become glazed under her long, heated gaze. A gaze that stares so intently at each divot of his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You could take me here. You could do whatever you wanted with me, right here, <em> right now—” </em></p><p> </p><p>Bernadette wakes up to Salem sleeping on her chest.</p><p> </p><p>The plain cream coloured ceiling seems to be mocking her, somehow, and she shifts uncomfortably on the bed, but not by much as to not disturb the goat. She can feel the wetness between her legs.</p><p> </p><p>She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose.</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit. I actually… Wow.”</p><p> </p><p>Her face promptly feels like it’s fucking burning, but her cursed mind unhelpfully replays Cyrus’ debauched looking face every time she closes her eyes. She can only think of one coherent thought.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I just want to tease him. To see that face. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Well, she wants to do a great deal more than that. She’s intimately aware of that. She thinks about his constant consideration, his emotional warmth, his <em> tenderness. </em> Her jealousy. How often she enjoys just being with him. How she’s been thinking about him like <em> that </em>in increasing frequency. </p><p> </p><p>This unusual feeling— it aches her heart. She wonders if she ever properly lived a moment in her life before meeting him. She was just so angry every day. And now she’s… not. God, everything just feels so much better with him.</p><p> </p><p>A wry laugh escapes her lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck. I think I might have fallen into the deep.”</p><p> </p><p>God fucking dammit.</p><p> </p><p>She just <em> craves </em>him.</p><p> </p><p>She just wants to touch him! Like that, and that, and <em> that! </em>Fuuuuuck!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I'm in love with him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He never leaves her mind, he's always there; mentally if not physically. It's just incomprehensible. He's her one stable force, her one stability in a world filled with chaos and she so desperately needs that in her life. She loves him so much for that. She’s in love with him and she can’t believe she’s only just realised it.</p><p> </p><p>Falling in love is easy. Admitting it? Yeesh. That took her three fucking years.</p><p> </p><p>It’s strange– frightening even– how someone can go from someone being a complete stranger, to then being completely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that you were able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without them now.</p><p> </p><p>She wrinkles her nose.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Goddamn. Didn’t know I was a fucking sap. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s so overwhelming. This is— Insane. Too much for a single night. She feels like she needs to punch something but this damn goat is letting her right now.</p><p> </p><p>She rubs her haggard eyes. Her heart is constricting and it feels as if there’s no oxygen in her lungs and she wills herself to get over it. She’s a woman who recently stopped living in a barn. Everyone says it’s the woman’s job to provide for the man.</p><p> </p><p>She can’t really provide him much of anything.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ...But I won’t know unless I try. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ...But that’s a fact anyone could see. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She keeps going back and forth. Should she? Should she not? She never lands on an answer she’s satisfied with, and in the end she ultimately does nothing about it. Maybe… things would just work themselves out after a while. Somehow. Shit happens.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks that, but every interaction with Cyrus after this night feels like she’s playing a game of cat and mouse.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I dunno. You could just tell him.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t just <em> say </em>things.”</p><p> </p><p>Raenelle barks out a laugh. “Little miss satyr, suddenly losing all of her bravado because of her crush. Damn.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette responds by jokingly hitting her on the shoulder, the two of them sitting on a bench on the training grounds. The sun is setting, and the two women drink what could be called a ridiculous amount of water as they recover from a rigorous sparring session. Raenelle cocks her head to the side with a grin.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the worst that can happen?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit gets so awkward he doesn’t want to see me again.”</p><p> </p><p>Raenelle thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “Fair enough. Buuuut… I do think he’s got the same idea as you do. Just think about it, fluttering his eyes and looking away is basically guy speak for <em> ‘please plow me into the ground Miss.’” </em></p><p> </p><p>Bernadette chokes on her water, hitting her chest as she gurgles inelegantly because <em> hello yes I do indeed want to plow Cyrus into the ground. </em></p><p> </p><p>Though she could do without him calling her ‘Miss.’</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That’s not the fucking point here! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She throws the best death glare she’s able, though it’s not very successful considering her blush. And <em> especially </em>unsuccessful considering the topic of their conversation just happens to make his entrance.</p><p> </p><p>“Goodness, sounds like someone might be drowning here. Do I need to resuscitate anyone?” Cyrus has a cheeky expression, and Raenelle subtly winks at her direction.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Bernie’s just dying here. I’ve gotta run and make sure my cats haven’t torn my place apart. Seeya.” She jogs off, leaving the two of them, and Bernadette is finally able to catch her breath.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine, really.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus giggles lightly. “I can tell the two of you were sparring for quite some time. Do you have anything I can heal? Even if it’s a small bruise.” He sits beside her, eyes gazing upwards, “Then we can go stargazing. I believe the Caimaninae constellation should be visible tonight. That’s the name of the altar where the slaves formed a pact to form an uprising against the satyr. It apparently still stands to this day. We should go see it sometime! I can’t believe we’ve never left this city!”</p><p> </p><p>He tentatively slides his hands on the bench, bringing it closer to hers but not touching— almost like he’s asking for her permission to touch. Or just <em> begging </em>her to hold his hand all lovey-dovey like. Or maybe it’s Raenelle’s prior comment that’s making her think of stupid shit. Probably that.</p><p> </p><p>She leans in forward, but not by too much, bringing her voice to a low whisper. “Don’t really care what we do. I’m just glad you decided to visit tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Is it just her, or did his eyelashes just flutter? Didn’t Raenelle say something about fluttering? Oh shit. Oh <em> shit. </em></p><p> </p><p>Despite the fluttering currently going on in her own stomach, Bernadette doesn’t escalate anything. She’ll just let things play out like she intended from the start. Not that she really minds, it’s nice just being around Cyrus and looking up a bunch of twinkling stars she’s seen countless times before. Somehow, it never gets old.</p><p> </p><p>Although, their little hang out cut just a tad bit short. Clarise knocks on the weapon’s desk to get their attention and Cyrus pouts.</p><p> </p><p>“Time to go.” Clarise says.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette quirks a brow. “You get picked up by your sister now?”</p><p> </p><p>“A man being out at night is unsightly. I may tolerate your company around my brother but I won’t allow him to walk home unattended.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette can’t quite hide the grimace that forms on her face, though it’s overshadowed by Cyrus sticking out his tongue at his sister.</p><p> </p><p>“Geez. I may be a man but I’m also an adult.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sticking out your tongue tells me otherwise.”</p><p> </p><p>He huffs, a slight twinge of redness forming at the tip of his ears. After giving a sleeping Salem a quick pat, he turns to Bernadette. “Sorry about this being such a short visit. I’ll see you later, good night!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, seeya.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s an annoying mingling sense of disappointment that never really leaves as she watches Cyrus leaves.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t miss Clarise’s glare, either. And this time she knows she didn’t just imagine it.</p><p> </p><p>Much of Cyrus’ visits become like that— a bit shorter than usual because of Clarise. Every time, Bernadette thinks she’s getting close to doing <em> something </em>with him, though things drag on with no real resolution of anything. </p><p> </p><p>It drags on for years.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At the age of twenty-four, a penultimate event occurs.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve decided I just can’t stand looking at your shirts! They’re just so… so plain! Here, let me embroider a pattern of some kind.” Cyrus titters on, eying Bernadette with an expectant gaze as he holds his hand out to her. “Hand it over.”</p><p> </p><p>Now, she <em> could </em> make a comment about how he just wants to see her without her shirt, but she’s not quite sure how he’d take that type of teasing. And she <em> does </em>like teasing him— she actively searches for those blushing cheeks whenever she’s able and she’s yet to find a line that she’s not supposed to cross.</p><p> </p><p>She takes off her shirt, her sports bra covering her chest, and flings the old shirt over to him. <em> Embroider my ass, </em>she thinks when she catches him glancing at her abs. God, she wants to make a comment about that too, but the slight ache on her ribs prevents her from doing so.</p><p> </p><p>“Maa.” Salem bleats and now she feels like she’s getting judged.</p><p> </p><p>Raenelle had knocked her out with a particular hard punch with water, something that made the woman promptly apologize to Cyrus for half an hour afterwards. He had healed his sister earlier before, so now the two of them are in the apothecary. In broad daylight, no less. Luckily, today is the one day of the week where it’s closed.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it with the women in my life constantly getting themselves hurt?” Cyrus shakes his head, exasperated, “You’d think Clarise was in the middle of a war with some of the injuries she shows me. I think maybe she needs a new hippogriff if it’s going to constantly fling her off.”</p><p> </p><p>“I never understood people’s obsessions of those things. Hippogriffs freak me out.” She shudders, “And flying? Fuck no. I ain’t doing like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“If they were flying goats I’m sure you would be fine with them,” he chuckles softly, “I think I’ll embroider Salem’s portrait onto your shirt, if you don’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course you would embroider Salem.”</p><p> </p><p>The goat in question lazily eats some hay that’s placed on a floral patterned glass plate. Bernadette and Cyrus exchange more quips here and there, and soon she brings up a change in conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe your parents have decided to loosen up. If you told me that we could hang up in the middle of the day years ago I would have thought you were trying to pull my leg.”</p><p> </p><p>He stops embroidering momentarily, lips pursing together. “Well… yeah, it’s certainly nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“What changed?” She smirks, “I only know them for having a stick up their asses. Did they just get over it or something?”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs half heartedly and Bernadette has to stop herself from pinching her brows together. She doesn’t like how his hands seem to quake in nervous energy, nor does he seem to be looking so intently at her shirt— it’s not the shirt he’s thinking about. He’s mulling over something she isn’t aware of.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not important. What is important is that we can be friends without much repercussions, hmm?” He forces a smile, “Can you get me the silver thread? It’s up on the shelf there.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, she has every intention of interrogating him on whatever this is later, but for now she grabs the thread. In the process of doing so, she doesn’t notice her boot laces have become loose. In a second, Bernadette has all the grace of a three legged spider. Her arms go like a windmill as she struggles to stay upright, but to no avail.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus squeaks out a quick <em> ‘Ah!’ </em>when she falls on top of him.</p><p> </p><p>She catches herself with her hands, and time stops.</p><p> </p><p>He’s on his back, and both of her hands are on either side of his face. <em> Oh fuck, </em>she thinks, and then her thoughts become completely incomprehensible. She can’t find her voice. She feels her cheeks flushed hot, and her stomach is heavy. Her heart pounds in her throat, threatening to break out.</p><p> </p><p>Ah. So this is what they mean when they talk about someone taking their breath away.</p><p> </p><p>His reddening cheeks nearly melts her into a puddle of nothing. Her mind runs a mile a minute, quickly going through every interaction they’ve ever had and about how <em> warm </em> he makes her heart feel. His eyes speak of nothing but shyness, but they also look… <em> inviting. </em>Even more so when his tongue darts out to nervously lick his lips— an action that causes the dream of him and that damn flask to come to the forefront of her muddled mind.</p><p> </p><p>For one of the first times ever, she realizes he smells like jasmine.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus faintly smiles, which sends a shiver down Bernadette’s spine.</p><p> </p><p>“U-Um… so…” His voice tapers off to pin-drop silence.</p><p> </p><p>Goddammit, she literally told herself time and time again she wouldn’t realistically be able to offer him anything as a partner, and yet here she is, still on top of him and just… <em>looking. </em>Looking and wondering what those lips would feel like against hers.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You can’t offer him anything. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She’s just a woman in a dinky small apartment who’s become a bit too partial to goats over the years. Despite herself, she grins.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Should I? Should I not? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She smiles unconsciously. She thought things would just play out. Fix themselves. And now look where she is. Maybe this is divine intervention. Maybe this is the sign she needs to continue on— shit happens, afterall. Might as well take the opportunities as they come.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s her lovestruck stupor that pushes her forward, egging her on to do <em> something. </em> Fuck, every inch of her body is tingling. His deep chestnut brown eyes that she has come to adore continues to look into hers, locking her into trance that glancing away is physically impossible. She should do something. She should lean down. She should <em> kiss him. </em></p><p> </p><p>But first, she ought to make a long overdue declaration.</p><p> </p><p>“...Cyrus… Cyrus I—”</p><p> </p><p>“Cyrus, do you still have my cloak? I think I left it here—”</p><p> </p><p>His hands go to her shoulders so quickly he practically becomes a blur, and with all of his strength he pushes Bernadette away from him with such fervour and <em> desperation </em>that she finds she cannot resist him in the slightest. The pure shock of him moving away from her prevents her from fully realizing that Clarise is currently glaring daggers at her until several seconds later.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ next words are like a stab to her chest.</p><p> </p><p>“C-C-Clarise!! It’s not what it looks like—!”</p><p> </p><p>“Rest assured, mother will be hearing about this.”</p><p> </p><p>“I— I can explain!”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette stares blankly as she watches Cyrus fumble to stand and proceeds to run after his sister, the slamming of the door comes like punctuation. Before it she had a slither of hope that they could be something more, and after it she has none.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s not what it looks like. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then what the fuck did it look like? Did they not have a moment? How could she have misinterpreted everything?</p><p> </p><p>“...Maa.” Salem bleats beside her, nuzzling her limp hands.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette gathers her things, and silently returns to her apartment. She does not see Cyrus for several weeks after the incident, but when she does, he pretends nothing occurred, though with every movement and action he does there’s a strained tension in the air. Some moments he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. It’s obvious he’s hiding something.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t tell her anything. She doesn’t pry.</p><p> </p><p>They return to meeting exclusively during the evening. And their meetings become sparse as the year continues on.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At the age of twenty-four, it’s the eve of the festival for when the Queensguard visit again. Salem is holed up in his own room, though it’s not a challenge to get him to stay in one spot anymore. He’s getting there in age and nowadays he mostly just sleeps around. </p><p> </p><p>Bernadette sits at her dining table, newspaper in hand. She’s not sure she’ll bother with the festival. Big celebrations like that were never really her thing, though maybe she’ll go running in the rooftops again.</p><p> </p><p>Though if she did that she would just end up thinking about when she and Cyrus went running five years ago, and now that memory… just stings a little bit. Ever since Clarise interrupted them, their relationship has just been awkward. They both try to keep a semblance of normalcy, though Bernadette wonders how long this can possibly last until it reaches its boiling point.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe she should vent to Raenelle, though the woman’s been too focused on the festival lately, hoping to be picked by the Queensguard.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs, and begins perusing the front page of the newspaper to distract herself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> THE DEAD HAVE RISEN AND THEY WANT YOUR JOBS! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yesterday morning at around 7:00AM the Necromancy Department of the Royal Academy of Witchcraft successfully reanimated a corpse built from donated body parts. Magister Justine Flores has made a statement that the corpse was not fully sentient, and only mindlessly took commands for about 50 minutes until it collapsed and returned to a deceased state.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “This is very exciting,” Magister Justine Flores commented, “If we refine our skills and can control bodies for extended periods of times, we may be able to control an entire fleet of future factory workers!” She then broke into hysterical laughter. No comment was made on how one would manage the decomposition of the newly reanimated corpses. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This was not met without criticism, however, as the Minister of Human Affairs stated that the reanimation of human corpses and the subsequent use of them in the workforce could, in fact, be breaking several international laws. It is unknown whether animal bodies have the same restrictions. More on page 47. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette thinks she’s getting a headache just from reading that. Maybe she was blessed all along from being born without magic, because at the very least she’s not fucking crazy. </p><p> </p><p>...Though, admittedly, commanding a horde of skeletons <em> might </em>be cool. No fleshy corpse, though. That shit’s probably rancid.</p><p> </p><p>After thinking about the topic for perhaps too long, she sighs again. Her foot begins bouncing impatiently on the floor and she grits her teeth. As with literally every other night, her thoughts return to Cyrus. His expression implants itself into her mind— particularly the one from when she fell on top of him— and it takes every fiber in her being to not outright wince.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe tonight <em> is </em>the boiling point. Maybe she should just fucking ask.</p><p> </p><p>Though she might not need to, because in that same moment a frantic set of footsteps rush towards her apartment.</p><p> </p><p>With seemingly the same force as a fucking bull, the door is violently swung back, its hinges groaning in the process. Cyrus stands there, hair dishevelled like he just woke up, eyes red-rimmed and panting desperately for air.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette doesn’t even have time to register the sight before her as Cyrus barrels towards her, burying his face into her shoulder as he almost knocks her over.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Bernadette—!! I-It’s awful, it’s… it’s s-so awful!”</p><p> </p><p>His shoulder shakes, and while she can’t see his face she can feel the dampness of his tears on her shoulder. His sniffles every ten seconds, his voice caked in rawness.</p><p> </p><p>“Cyrus, what is going—”</p><p> </p><p>“My parents are marrying me off!”</p><p> </p><p>She freezes.</p><p> </p><p>Great. Now it feels like someone is rubbing salt into her open wounds. The noisy sobs echo through the apartment, Salem soon slowly walking towards them in curiosity. He bleats, but Bernadette hears none of it. Cyrus’ next onslaught of wailing makes her vision become blurry.</p><p> </p><p>“My parents are marrying me off to Ivette!!”</p><p> </p><p>She roughly grabs his shoulders to hold him steady and so she can look at his face. He blinks briny tears from bloodshot eyes, his thick lashes sticking together in clumps as if he'd been swimming. </p><p> </p><p>“Wha—” she swallows thickly, hating the obvious desperation in her voice, “Tell me this a fucking joke.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus shakes his head fitfully, “M-My family always sucked u-up to hers… It’s w-why we could see each o-other during the day… b-because they arranged the m-marriage and thought you were no l-longer a threat…” He sniffles into his sleeve.</p><p> </p><p>“B-B-But then Clarise… f-found us like t-that… M-Mama got r-really mad…”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t mean to, but the grip on his shoulders tighten. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?!”</p><p> </p><p>He stays silent for a heart-wrenchingly long pause as his lips quiver.</p><p> </p><p>“I… I d-didn’t know at first… but when I knew I… I-I just hoped they w-would change their mind…”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her face creases in a look of disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>She wants to cry as rage fills her belly. She feels her ears getting hot.</p><p> </p><p>“So you did nothing and hoped everything would work out in the end?! What type of fucking thinking is that?!”</p><p> </p><p>“I-I didn’t know what to do!”</p><p> </p><p>“You could have fucking told me!”</p><p> </p><p>He winces like her words physically pain her. “What w-would you have done then…?”</p><p> </p><p>She’d lower her voice— but she no longer finds it in herself to be able to speak. Rendered speechless she merely stands because she <em> knows. </em>She knows that she wouldn’t have done anything either, that she wouldn’t have known what to do. Maybe she’d jokingly say she’d threaten his parents or sister, but she’d never go through with it. Maybe in the end she’d just hope, like him, that the problem would fix itself.</p><p> </p><p><em> Fuck… we’re just two peas in a pod. </em> She wants to laugh, she <em> really </em>wants to laugh at their shared idiocy. But she can’t.</p><p> </p><p>All she’s ever known was how to fight things with her fists. But this? Whole different ballpark and everything about it fucking terrifies her.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus hiccups, and her grip on his shoulders lessen enough for him to bury his face back into her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“...M-My… the marriage is… t-tomorrow… Mama got so mad she w-wanted me to marry… as soon as I-Ivette got back...”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette’s knees buckles, and a pathetic, small and utterly disbelieving rasp comes out of her. Her lips curl in a mirthless and self-deprecating smile.</p><p> </p><p>She remembers Ivette’s snide and triumphant smirk. Did she know all along? Why does everything always come back to her? Did her very existence offend Ivette <em> that </em> much? That witch just has to win at <em> everything, </em>huh? Just when she felt like she belonged in this city, she has to rip everything away.</p><p> </p><p>A shear of nothingness that takes over Bernadette and it quickly feels like it’s going to threaten to kill her. It’s the same crushing loneliness she had felt before meeting him. It’s an unbelievably heavy feeling, but she refuses to fall from the weight.</p><p> </p><p>Because she has to stand, because she has to support Cyrus as he cries.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“...That sounds tough.” Raenelle says awkwardly after Bernadette relays everything that happened last night.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette rubs her forehead, soothing a headache that had begun the moment Cyrus tearfully left to go back home. For the past few hours, she kicks herself over not running after him, but she doesn’t know what she would have done after that. She doesn’t know to do in general, trapped in indecision like she had been when she first realized her feelings for him.</p><p> </p><p>She can’t wait and hope everything will just turn out for the better. Like <em> that </em>ever works out.</p><p> </p><p>She grunts out her reply with a humourless grin, “Yeah, that’s exactly what Cyrus said when I first met him.” Then she groans, voice twinged with annoyance, “Story of my fucking life.”</p><p> </p><p>Raenelle shifts awkwardly on her seat. “And… you said he was getting hitched today?’</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which probably means Ivette is going to take him away when she leaves to go back to the Academy.”</p><p> </p><p>“...Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Raenelle narrows her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re just going to let that happen?” There’s nothing admonishing about her tone. It’s calm, a mere statement of fact. Somehow that stings more than anything else.</p><p> </p><p>If his parents want to get rid of him so badly they might be doing the wedding at this very moment. Bernadette is just <em> that </em>much of a cretin for these fucking nobles, apparently. She remembers how his mother cooed at Ivette when they first found her and Cyrus together at the barn. His parents were probably planning for him to marry her for a very, very long time because Ivette’s family are a bunch of hot shots. Being some stupid fucking prodigy in magic will do that and Bernadette grits her teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“My best friend… is marrying Ivette. <em> Ivette.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Her throat constricts. A part of her knows she prevented herself from actively pursuing anything romantic from him for years because she was afraid she’d lose him. Now she’s losing him anyway. Then her mind switches to reminiscing about every encounter she’s ever had with Ivette—</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t just <em> let </em> that happen. She fought back. She <em> defended </em> herself because she refused to be a doormat, even though she never beat her. The fact of the matter is that she <em> tried </em>and didn’t just wait for things to work themselves out.</p><p> </p><p>But now she’s just going to give up when it comes to Cyrus? When it involves someone else she’s just going to become a doormat she despises? What comes after that? Ivette wins, <em> again? </em>Bernadette loses the fight, and the evil satyr slinks back to the shadows to lick her wounds.</p><p> </p><p>And Cyrus…</p><p> </p><p>Cold, callous and indescribably cruel. Someone who enjoyed lauding her power over those who are weaker. He was marrying someone like that. No more would she see his shy smiles and radiant eyes— his tear stricken face will simply become his default expression. Ivette is <em> absolutely </em>the type of person to hit her spouse and that… that makes Bernadette’s blood fucking boil. The pressure of this raging sea of anger that churns inside of her threatens to erupt.</p><p> </p><p>He told her to live for herself.</p><p> </p><p>But what if she wants to live for him, too?</p><p> </p><p>And that means she has to do <em> something. </em>She has to defend him the same way she defends herself.</p><p> </p><p>And like hell she’s gonna let their last meeting be him crying!</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette is rigid with fury for a grand total of three seconds before she stands suddenly and begins jolting to her door. She sees a knowing smile form on Raenelle’s lips, who says, “I’ll be rooting for ya.”</p><p> </p><p>She sprints out of her apartment, and despite his growing age, Salem hurriedly trots after her.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bernadette may not be the most knowledgeable when it comes to romance, really she’s as dense as a rock in that regard, but she <em> does </em>know a thing or two of the marriage customs around here. It involves the couple planting two tree seeds close together, after burying it in the ground they’re supposed to prick the tip of one of their fingers, mixing their drop of blood with water. Then everyone gets all merry, drinks, and dance and whatever the fuck else. </p><p> </p><p>That last part isn’t important, but what <em> is </em>important is that the whole tree planting ceremony means the wedding can only be held at the forest that sits just outside the city’s perimeter. Huh. It’s actually kinda sweet if the forest was made because of marrying couples.</p><p> </p><p>Anyway. That also isn’t important.</p><p> </p><p>Her feet kisses the cobblestone as she sprints towards one of the main gates, jumping over merchant’s carts and even sliding beneath a hippogriff in the process. Sweat rolls down her skin in thick, salty beads, but her heart remains steady. All she knows is that she has to keep running forward. Not stopping for anything.</p><p> </p><p>Except for when she’s outside the city walls. Panting, she scours the plains, ignoring the treeless hills. Then— she spots it, a cluster of trees, and a group of people. She can’t discern whether Cyrus is among them from this distance, but she’s just gonna have to go with it and hope she doesn’t crash some random person’s wedding.</p><p> </p><p>Before she breaks into another sprint, she glances behind herself and makes sure Salem is alright. He’s fine, though hobbling along. Bernadette then reaches down to pick up a rock, her legs soon taking her to the wedding further down.</p><p> </p><p>And she runs, like the winter breeze colliding into inanimate objects and crashing waves hitting the shore line. She jumps over tree stumps and large stones with a stride that suggests her ankles are made of tightly coiled springs rather than sinew and bone. She sprints faster than she’s ever had before, heart beginning to hammer in her chest and for a brief moment she actually has to stop herself from outright crying.</p><p> </p><p>She fucking wants to see him. So, so badly. </p><p> </p><p>The pounding noise of her feet hitting the ground matches the throbbing inside her chest with the thick grief she feels.</p><p> </p><p>She wants those smiles to be directed towards her. For her. Because of her. She wants to bring him joy; be the source of those lit eyes and dimpled cheeks. She wants him to feel the warmth  that he’s given her all these years.</p><p> </p><p>She aches to think there’s no way for her to help him, but she’s going to damn well try. She won’t go down without a fight.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette wheezes as her burning lungs scream for air, but she forces herself to continue forward because she <em> sees </em> him. Not his face, since he has his back turned towards her but she’s certain it’s him. It <em> has </em>to be them, and judging by both he and Ivette are kneeling on the ground they must be in the midst of the tree planting ceremony.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Not on my fucking watch! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her throat feels dry, so uncomfortably dry. Her clothes and black hair clings to her form, no different than if she ran through a rain-storm. But just seeing that tuft of brown hair has given her more adrenaline and motivation than anything in the whole fucking world.</p><p> </p><p>Winding her arm as far behind her as possible, she summons as much as her strength as she’s able to throw the rock in her hand directly at Ivette.</p><p> </p><p>Then she yells her fucking lungs out.</p><p> </p><p>“Ivette—!! I’m gonna knock your fucking lights out you bitch!”</p><p> </p><p>The rock doesn’t hit her, instead it’s deflected with air. Bernadette doesn’t even bother registering the gobsmacked faces of everyone else attending this sham they call a wedding. Breathing quickly and with perspiration dampening her brow, Bernadette lets out another roar.</p><p> </p><p>“Cyrus is <em> mine, </em> dammit! You can’t marry him! I won’t let you!”</p><p> </p><p>She yells loud enough that birds fly from the trees, and the accompanying stunned silence feels like it’s crushing her. There are no sounds other than her heavy breathing, and when she actually sees the man in question she nearly chokes on the air. In any other moment she’d described herself as thoroughly dazzled by his mere presence, his long pure white robe that drags on the ground makes him look fucking goegeous— his beautifully soft masculinity hitting her so forcibly that she would stumble if she were still running.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ chin trembles when their eyes meet as if he were a child trying desperately to retain his sobbing. Tears, she desperately wants to imagine, that are of happiness because of her grand declaration of him being hers. He wrings his hands together, eyes darting between her and Ivette. He doesn’t let out a single squeak, likely knowing that speaking would probably end poorly.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette swallows thickly when she gives Ivette a look, hoping that she’s giving the bitch her best glare yet though her mind constantly going back to Cyrus’ visage makes that a bit difficult. Ivette’s wears a long cloak that’s draped over her shoulders, its crimson colour matching her hair. Beneath her silken cloak is armour, which shines like water ripples in the sun. It’s clear she’s become a Queensguard which just makes the decision to have him marry her seem all the more obvious.</p><p> </p><p><em> Not on my fucking watch, </em> Bernadette thinks again bitterly. She wonders if anything would have happened differently if she had admitted her feelings earlier. Perhaps she and Cyrus could have even eloped. Maybe they <em> still </em>can elope.</p><p> </p><p>She hears Salem’s shaking and exhausted trotting reach behind her, and she smiles without even realizing it. Turns out a goat is the best cheerleader a woman can get.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette’s lips part for a split-second, but Bernadette doesn’t allow her to get a word out. Despite threatening her mere seconds ago, she decides to do something she has never attempted before.</p><p> </p><p>She tries to reason with Ivette. Just a little bit, she wants this to end quickly for Cyrus’ sake.</p><p> </p><p>“I know this is an arranged marriage. You don’t <em> really </em>want this, do you? Just annul the damn thing!” Granted, it’s certainly not the most elegant way to try to reason with someone. Cyrus’ sniffles become much more noticeable at her telling Ivette to annul the wedding, and from the corner of her eyes she can see the furious red-faced faces of his family.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette doesn’t answer her demands, instead the woman raises a single brow, eyes narrowed like a fox with a disdainful glare.</p><p> </p><p>She’s taunting her to say more, and that’s exactly what Bernadette does.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you have to gain from this? An unhappy husband who doesn’t love you? Who wants that! Just— Just fucking end this charade so neither of us have to be fucking miserable for the rest of our lives.” Her voice cracks in the midst of her statement, and she’s intensely aware of her buckling legs and how much she wants to beat the ground with her fists.</p><p> </p><p>Though despite her desire for a fantasy ending of Ivette just giving her Cyrus with no conflict, that’s obviously not what happens. The reality is so starkly different from what Bernadette is desperately hoping for that she could almost laugh self-deprecatingly. </p><p> </p><p>Ivette does not simply hand him over, instead, her lips twitch in a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m disappointed. All those years of living like a vagabond and you’ve yet to learn how to beg properly.” She flippantly waves her hand at Bernadette with a chortle, “As if I would deign to give you my property after such a pitiable display.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, so much for reasoning with her.</p><p> </p><p>Now, her fingers curl into fists when Ivette’s words cement themselves into her thoughts, the word <em> property </em>ringing like church bells. She could see the woman's neck snapping in her mind and it feels good. She could feel her fist smashing into her nose, splattering red blood on the dirty walls. God, what a fucking improvement that would be. Bernadette practically growls when she quickly scours the ground around her looking for another rock.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ mother stands, screeching something that doesn’t register in her mind, but it must be an exclamation for the guards since they come walking menacingly towards her.</p><p> </p><p><em> Fine. </em>If Bernadette wants to save him, she’ll have to play by these asshole’s rules.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You want your happy ending? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Then you’ll have to earn it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She feels the tension and hears the intensity in her own tone. There's a great deal of emotion behind these words she begins speaking, and she points at Ivette with fire in her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Ivette Sommelier, I challenge you to a duel for Cyrus von Ophrey’s hand in marriage!”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The field is mostly silent, the sky growing red from the setting sun. Ivette idly checks her nails, her condescending smirk never leaving her expression, and she then watches Bernadette like a hawk. </p><p> </p><p>“I do hope we’ll be finished with this farce soon. I have to choose this year’s new recruits for the Academy.” her smile grows, “And then depart back home with my dearest husband.”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette grits her teeth, not quite willing to lower herself to Ivette’s jabs so she silently seethes. If Ivette wasn’t considered a prodigy with magic, would she have been this much of a maniac? Her power has made her a fucking deranged brat who needs a lesson in humility.</p><p> </p><p>And Bernadette intends to give her that very lesson. She <em> has </em>to. This is it. This is the final fight between the two, she’ll make sure of it. The rest of both her and Cyrus’ lives are dependent on the outcome of this duel. </p><p> </p><p>This is single handedly the most important moment in her entire life.</p><p> </p><p>There’s an announcer saying something, though she finds she again can’t hear anything— she’s too focused on staring at a very nervous Cyrus who stands at the sidelines along with Salem. She tries to give him a reassuring smile, and his lips quiver.</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Good luck,’ </em> he mouths the words, and that makes her stand a little straighter and taller. Belatedly, she notices the dug up hole behind him, they hadn’t planted the seeds yet and that makes her feel a little light and <em> much </em>more motivated.</p><p> </p><p>She inhales slowly, trying to calm her mind. Not for the first time, she thinks about the memories she considers her most treasured... her first meeting with Cyrus, them subsequently becoming acquaintances, their blossoming friendship, her slow, slow, <em> slow </em> realization of her feelings… they’re all things she holds dear to her heart. And they’re memories she doesn’t want to just <em> end.  </em></p><p> </p><p>She wants them to continue. She wants to make more memories with him. </p><p> </p><p>The announcer, one of Ivette’s relatives, establishes the rules of the duel.</p><p> </p><p>“The fight will carry on until one yields or is knocked unconscious.”</p><p> </p><p>Seems simple enough. A napkin is thrown in the air, then slowly flutters to the ground. The tension is palpable, and once it lands on the grass the ground trembles.</p><p> </p><p>Air is being thrusted <em> inside </em> the fucking dirt, moving shit around, and she almost loses her balance when tree and grass roots are pretty flung at her from the ground. She sprints to escape the sudden barrage, hearing Cyrus’ choked and surprised gasp. </p><p> </p><p>Bernadette shuffles to the side and awaits the next attack, and, possibly, inevitable death. Only now does she realize how fucking annoying it is that Ivette basically doesn’t need to move when she does her spellcasting while she has to traipse around to avoid getting flung halfway across the continent.</p><p> </p><p>Her opponent flicks at her hand and a violent gust of wind comes barreling towards her, and Bernadette dodges to the side in one fluid motion. Ivette swivels her hand in her direction, her menacing eyes speaking of nothing but bloodlust.</p><p> </p><p>No amount of scenarios in her head prepares her for this ridiculous onslaught of magic. That’s if she can even think at all— there’s only just a feeling. A need to get closer. A need to cement her fist into her face. And that keeps her moving.</p><p> </p><p>With a jump, she executes a somersault and continues dodging Ivette’s attacks. Distantly, she hears the frantic screams of everyone watching, not unlike the crowds that watch her boxing, but these are obscured by the blood pounding in her ears. She ruminates on every second she’s ever experienced during boxing and sparring, jumping and weaving and practically dancing across the field to inch closer to her enemy with each step.</p><p> </p><p>Soon the inevitable happens. Ivette does manage to land a blow on her. It’s when Bernadette had gotten decently close, though closeness means she has less time to react to another spell. It’s a split-second too late and the wind hits her on the chest, making her become airborne, while also feeling like she’s just got crushed by a stampeding hippogriff. Everything is a blur. There’s the sky, the edge of a cliff in the far distance, and Cyrus’ horrified face. Then it all tilts. The blue rushes into the green when the grass quickly meets her. The wind hammers into her face. Her eyes felt as though they’re being sucked into the backs of their sockets with the sudden acceleration. How fast was she falling? How far up did she get lifted?</p><p> </p><p>She hits the ground with a resounding thud.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I have to get up. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And she does, at a speed that constricts her throat so that she could hardly draw breath. A second too long to the ground will result in a barrage of attacks that will overwhelm her— she knows that too well from experience and she refuses to be done in by a single gust of wind. She’s not the person she was when she first fought Ivette. She’s stronger.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly rolling to the side, she just barely avoids the ground erupting from beneath her from a volcanic-like burst of air. A part of her hopes that Ivette is trying to show off by using the ground as well, that putting up some bullshit show will make her react slower and become distracted.</p><p> </p><p>Crimson leaks from both her nostrils because of the fall but she barely registers it. Propelling herself forward she flies towards her target, not stopping for anything. </p><p> </p><p>Already the adrenaline coursing unchecked, urging her to do what she cannot. Sure, her muscles are stronger and she’s more awake than she’s ever been, but this isn't a situation where running hard forever time is going to help. She has to <em> reach </em> her.</p><p> </p><p>With a pivot on her heel, Bernadette has moved far enough to reach the now vacated chairs the wedding guests were sitting at before she threw her rock. Quickly grabbing a seat, she holds it in front of her and moves faster and more efficiently than ever before, ducking and weaving even with the chair in her hands. She never breaks concentration as she steadfastly continues forward.</p><p> </p><p>The only thing she needs to think about is Cyrus to keep her going.</p><p> </p><p>Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down her brow.</p><p> </p><p>Another sharp gale hits her, and she uses the chair as a shield. Which promptly shatters in her hands. It shatters like glass, but she had held it in such a way that it took most the brunt of the force, giving Bernadette enough time to duck beneath the rest of the attack. She’s definitely getting too close for Ivette’s comfort— her smirk is gone, replaced by thinly pursed lips and eyes that bear an annoyed glint.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t get too cocky, satyr!”</p><p> </p><p>They circle each other, a choreographed dance of destruction, and Bernadette finds her getting hit again.</p><p> </p><p>A sudden gush of pain jolts throughout her body as the gale practically passes through her, not quite flinging her off the ground but making her skid her feet on the ground. Her stomach aches, her arms lose tension and her legs begin to weaken. Ivette is trying to force her on her knees with the wind, but Bernadette summons whatever strength she has inside of her to stay standing.</p><p> </p><p>When Ivette finishes casting the spell, Bernadette sees it. Sweat trickling down her adversary’s brow— they’ve been going at it for minutes with an entire field practically destroyed, and no matter how much a prodigy someone is, everyone’s got their limit.</p><p> </p><p>Bruised and winded, with a leg in agony, Bernadette sprints forward once more. She can taste the copper in her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>She’s closer than she’s been before. <em> Stronger. </em> Anyone else would have been forced to yield after the second hit, and Ivette <em> knows </em> that.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ image comes to her mind again, and the intense ache coursing through her entire body seems to fade.</p><p> </p><p>She’s only a few more rapid steps away from getting in reach to Ivette, and she winds her fist behind her, readying her attack. Ivette’s expression serves as its own sense of motivation. The way her eyes widen, nostril flares and the vein that’s become noticeable on her forehead… it’s a fucking <em> delicious </em>sight that Bernadette will remember for years to come. She has never been more focused on something than this very moment, this very second.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time in her life, she’s penetrating the witch’s defenses.</p><p> </p><p>Ivette lets out a shrill, furious scream.</p><p> </p><p>“You—!!”</p><p> </p><p>A crackle snaps in the air. Brief flashes of whiteness.</p><p> </p><p>Lightning.</p><p> </p><p>Jagged bolts endlessly protrude from between Ivette’s fingers, emanating the might of an imminent tempest. It makes Bernadette smile, because she knows this must be her last resort. Her trump card. </p><p> </p><p>And also something that will <em> absolutely </em>kill Bernadette if it hits her.</p><p> </p><p>Time slows. Her heart slows. Her mind slows. She counts every single second that passes, as Ivette raises her hands, as her hair and robes billow behind her, as another angry shout erupts from her. She counts the seconds as the lightning shoots from her fingers, as lightning forks dreadfully close to her, as Cyrus’ horrified gasp echoes in her mind.</p><p> </p><p>She counts every heartbeat.</p><p> </p><p>She counts every step.</p><p> </p><p>She counts every crease on Ivette’s forehead when her brows shoot to her hairline when Bernadette swivels her body to simply sidestep the literal storm that shoots past her. She avoids it like an upcoming punch, years of boxing and sparring with Raenelle having forced her to perfect her dodging.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no wince from the booming, unearthly noise that pretty much shatters her eardrums. The ringing alone should make her fall, but her stride doesn’t falter.</p><p> </p><p>And… <em> ah, </em>so this is what catharsis feels like.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette’s fist collides with her cheekbone, flaying her neck backward like a willow caught in the wind. Pushing all of her body weight into her punch she makes Ivette briefly airborne, forcing the woman to harshly fall to the ground, knocking the wind— <em> heh— </em> out of her.</p><p> </p><p>“G-Guh?!” Ivette spits out a speck of blood, eyes blown wide as she furiously attempts to summon another lightning strike.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette is on her in a second.</p><p> </p><p>Each blow she makes is precise, an exhale of breath with each one. Every punch is punctuated with a memory of her losing to Ivette— the years of torment she had experienced. And for what? For being born without magic? What right did she have? What fucking right did Ivette have to do everything she’s ever done?</p><p> </p><p>Anger, pain, sadness— so intertwined with her past that Bernadette can only associate those emotions with Ivette half the time. That woman is so determined to take everything away from her, and she almost <em> did. </em>It makes Bernadette hit her harder, blood flying.</p><p> </p><p>Disgusting and vile. That’s all Ivette will ever be. Burning rage hisses through her body like deathly poison, and there’s only one thought that comes to the forefront of her mind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I want to fucking kill her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then—</p><p> </p><p>Her body freezes. She watches the bloody heap that is Ivette’s face. She’s still alive, her chest gently rising and sinking with each shallow breath she draws in, though she gurgles on the crimson river currently swimming out of her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>It’s such a pathetic sight that Bernadette feels as though she needs to pinch herself to make sure she isn’t dreaming. The boiling fury just… dissipates. Replaced by a wave of impassiveness. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t want to further burden herself or Cyrus by becoming a murderer. She had thought Ivette needed a lesson in humility— well, she fucking gave it to her.</p><p> </p><p>“This satyr has a lot of bite in her,” she says, head held high, “And don’t you fucking forget it.”</p><p> </p><p>As her final blow, Benradette wipes some non-existent dust off her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>She stands, though not without great effort. Her knees buckle, but she manages to groggily walk away from her downed opponent. There’s no sound save for the ringing that’s still in her ears, and when Cyrus sprints towards her she smiles, though that too requires a lot of effort.</p><p> </p><p>He’s been crying while watching that fight. She’ll have to apologize for stressing him out later.</p><p> </p><p>He says something though she can’t hear it, and she has trouble reading his lips with her vision beginning to become blurry and unfocused. She does see his eyes dart frantically around her, and now she can think of doing only one thing.</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette reaches down to hook one arm behind his legs and the other supports his back. </p><p> </p><p>And then she just runs.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t remember a lot after that.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She awakes to the feeling of relief flooding her cranium. </p><p> </p><p>There is a fleeting moment of her battle with Ivette invading her vision and her eyelids that were drooping and leaden with sleep snap open as violently as if she had been woken by a vicious lightning strike.</p><p> </p><p>“G-Goodness…” She hears above her, “Opening your eyes so quickly is pretty scary…”</p><p> </p><p>The world comes back to focus— and so does her hearing. There’s the sound of crickets. She notes she’s laying on her back, her head cushioned on… something soft. Then she sees a freckled face looking down and she realizes she’s using Cyrus’ lap like a pillow.</p><p> </p><p>His soft lips stretch into a smile but don’t quite reach his dark eyes. They're lit with sadness and concern, and the forced expression of the contrary on his mouth would have looked comical  if it didn't make Bernadette’s heart feel heavy. For a few moments she stares at him, almost sure his expression mirrors hers.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” she says, voice slightly hoarse, “Thanks for healing me.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods weakly. “O-Of course… I fixed up your eardrums… and I did what I could with your legs. S-Sorry, I couldn’t heal everything… Y-You’ll have to wait for tomorrow or go to an apothecary for e-everything else…”</p><p> </p><p>“You know you never have to apologize to me, right? I’m feeling leagues better already. Really, being on your lap alone made that whole fight worth it.”</p><p> </p><p>A wet, choked hiccup comes out of him, and his eyes become noticeably moist. Spurred on by instinct, she reaches her hand upwards to wipe away a stray tear.</p><p> </p><p>“...Sorry for worrying you.”</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head fitfully, his hands going to grab hers and he sets her palm against his cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I can’t really help it, worrying is j-just what I do.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite the slight ache in her back, Bernadette forces herself into a sitting position, and rests her forehead against his.</p><p> </p><p>“Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>His face twists into a pout that’s still somehow a tearful smile, “You d-dummy! These are tears of h-happiness!”</p><p> </p><p>She blinks. “Ah.”</p><p> </p><p>They laugh for a long time. It wasn’t really <em> that </em>funny, but the shared relief between them is palpable. Everything suddenly feels a little lighter.</p><p> </p><p>When they stop, they sit with their foreheads touching for a while longer. A warm, summer breeze passes over them, and Bernadette finally takes note of her surroundings.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are we?”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus chuckles. “Deep in the forest somewhere. You ran for a long time. So long that I don’t think anyone would find us even if they came looking.”</p><p> </p><p>She feels her cheeks warm slightly, and she awkwardly rubs the back of her neck. </p><p> </p><p>“I really should have brought my savings with me. This whole heroically running away with you is gonna look a lot less impactful to your family when I’m gonna need to go back to the city to go get the shit I left behind.”</p><p> </p><p>Giggling softly, Cyrus looks at her with eyes that now speak of nothing but warmth.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? Are we going to go somewhere far that needs your savings?”</p><p> </p><p>Bernadette chokes on her own words, mind abuzz over… well, everything. Everything’s happening so <em> fast </em> and she has to stop her heart from breaking through her damn ribcage. Her fingers twitch anxiously.</p><p> </p><p>“W-Well, I was… I guess I'm just thinking about eloping with you.” Cyrus’ eyes widen, and she fumbles even more. “I mean— I mean if you want, y’know… I know I mentioned your hand in marriage for the duel and, uh, I know that’s real quick and everything—!! Maybe a bit too dramatic at first. I— fuck, what I mean is that we don’t have to get married, we can just take slow at first!” She clears her throat, “If… If that’s alright with you.”</p><p> </p><p>She cringes. She could die, really. After all that, <em> that’s </em>her declaration of love? Fucking lamest confession ever.</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus’ lips twitch upwards and she clears her throat again.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I have a do over?”</p><p> </p><p>He barks out a laugh, and she takes that as a yes.</p><p> </p><p>“What I meant to say, ahem, Cyrus von Oprey…” She leans forward, watching his cheeks begin to match her own redness, “Would you do me the honour of… being my partner? I’ll do everything I can to provide for you. We can buy a plot of land with my savings. I’ll build us a house. Hell, I’ll build you your own apothecary.” </p><p> </p><p>Her hand intertwines with his. They feel impossibly soft.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll make sure to get us a place where plenty of travelers and merchants pass by so your apothecary can be a real hit. We’ll be swimming on dough in no time. The days will be lazy and long. Comfortable. We’ll spend each night stargazing.”</p><p> </p><p>She leans in, her lips ghosting his, his hot breath playing on her skin and her heartbeat rapidly rings in her eardrums. She can feel his nervousness, and her hand grips his tighter in growing anticipation. Her whole body tingles, overwhelmed by everything. It’s all so new, fresh, <em> raw. </em>She wants this moment to last forever.</p><p> </p><p>“Just the two of us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maa.”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus sharply turns his face, desperately trying to hold in a giggle that bursts out as a musical laugh. Bernadette joins him heartily, and soon her stomach hurts from laughing too hard.</p><p> </p><p>“Salem!” Cyrus exclaims, “I’m sorry, boy! It’ll just be the three of us, I swear!” He breaks into another fit of giggles. The goat in question lies down lazily by the two of them, and she wonders if he had been there the entire time.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Bernadette is hit with an epiphany— something that seems so obvious that she could smack herself for not thinking about it earlier.</p><p> </p><p>“A goat farm! We’ll build an apothecary and a goat farm!”</p><p> </p><p>Cyrus raises a brow, breathless, “Yeah? Will our goat milk be known the world over?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you know it.”</p><p> </p><p>The initial tension between the two of them die down, and she stares lovingly in his eyes. <em> Stay with me for every moment of my life, </em> she thinks, <em> May my every breath be linked to yours. </em></p><p> </p><p>Maybe meeting him was fate.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” she says softly, “For everything. I don’t know where I would be if you didn’t ask if I needed a towel all those years ago.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a twinkle in his eyes, brighter than any star from those constellations he likes so much.</p><p> </p><p>“...I have a confession.” He says coyly, eyelashes fluttering, “I admit I may have less than noble reasonings for first meeting you… I think it was love at first sight. I think I may have loved you from the moments I laid eyes on you.”</p><p> </p><p>She chuckles softly. “When did you become such a charmer, heh?” Her throat constricts, a single word bouncing around her skull. “Maybe… love was the only magic I ever needed.” She leans in closer again, “I love you, Cyrus.”</p><p> </p><p>His breath hitches, eyes dampening again. His soft, demure smile becomes the most radiant thing she’s ever seen.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you too, Bernadette.” His voice wavers, exhilarated. </p><p> </p><p>Their hands are no longer intertwined. Instead, his arms drape over her, more comforting that any blanket she had ever lay under. She takes in his intoxicating scent, his intoxicating <em> everything. </em>She would do anything for this man. She knows that. And she’s proud of that fact. If she could wake up next to him for the rest of her life, that would be all she ever needed.</p><p> </p><p>Her chest touches his as she leans over him and <em> fuck, </em>just that is enough to send sparks of excitement to shoot through her. Bernadette's hands venture over his robed body, exploring.</p><p> </p><p>Their lips touch.</p><p> </p><p>Her brain lights on fire and an almost embarrassing warmth spreads throughout her entire body. His lips are soft, as expected, and at first the two of them are slow and uncertain. </p><p> </p><p>They pull apart and take shaky, shallow breaths.</p><p> </p><p>It’s Cyrus that dives in for another kiss.</p><p> </p><p>Now, their lips crush together, opening and allowing their tongues to touch for the first time, and she feels like she’s walking in air. Drunk on desire she only wants to touch him, to move her hands beneath his smooth robes and feel his perfect smooth skin. In moments the soft caress has become more firm, she savours her lips and the quickening of his breath that matches her own. A kiss like this was a beginning, a promise of much more to come.</p><p> </p><p>Despite not being fully healed, she cannot feel any pain. She continues forward, coaxing shivers from Cyrus and when he lets out a breathless whimper she thinks she might have actually died and gone to heaven. It takes everything in her being to stop herself from pinning his arms above his head and to hungrily whisper in his ears <em>'mine.'</em></p><p> </p><p>That’ll be for another time.</p><p> </p><p>The kiss goes on, their lips moving in perfect sync the two of become more passionate and hungry by the second. This. This felt true. This felt good. This felt right. This is how things are meant to be. She truly, <em> truly </em>wants to spend the rest of her time on this earth with him.</p><p> </p><p>The night becomes a long and amorous one. A single phrase repeats itself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I love you, I love you, I love you. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Months later, the two of them buy some land. Bernadette commences building for their home immediately, doing odd jobs here and there at the nearby town to support the two of them. Cyrus offers his healing services, as well as makes potions for extra coins. They soon hire other builders to assist with the project. Raenelle even manages to find them and pitch in.</p><p> </p><p>At the age of twenty-five, their home is completed. It’s a surreal moment the two of them happily cry for several hours about.</p><p> </p><p>At the age of twenty-six, Salem dies of old age. The two of them decide to buy several more goats to start their farm in earnest. Cyrus spends weeks picking out the perfect names for them.</p><p> </p><p>At the age of twenty-seven, Bernadette begins building an apothecary. It takes less than a year for it to be completed. Just as she predicted, the traveling merchants make it a successful business. </p><p> </p><p>At the age of twenty-eight, the two of them engage in their own tree planting ceremony. They plant an apple and a lemon tree.</p><p> </p><p>At the age of twenty-nine, Cyrus’ family tracks them down and… they reconcile. It’s a slightly tense and <em> very </em>awkward couple of days, but Bernadette finds herself with a sudden set of in-laws that eventually come to accept her. Cyrus’ sister actually becomes a pretty good friend.</p><p> </p><p>At the age of thirty, Cyrus’ apothecary becomes so well-known for his effective potion mixtures and intricately embroidered cloaks that the newspapers write about it. Their goat milk becomes a hit as well. They buy cows and sheep to add to their farm and business. And a dog. Cyrus’ spends weeks naming them, too.</p><p> </p><p>At the age of thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three... ect, the days are long, lazy and comfortable. They stargaze during the night. Bernadette wakes up every morning to Cyrus’ smiling face, and everything is just <em> bliss. </em></p><p> </p><p>They live the rest of their days together, content as can be.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A long winded childhood-friends-turned-lovers romance that takes place over several years probably works best as a 100K+ slow burn, but Bernadette/Cyrus will just have to settle with having a bunch of interconnected vignettes to a much larger story. I hope that despite this one-shot essentially being a bunch of snapshots that it was still an endearing romance story! It was pretty fun to write (and exhausting). Maybe I'll come back to these two and write them having a fun romp in the bedroom, wink wonk. Cyrus is pure subby wubby material, after all.</p><p>Thanks for reading.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Some Exist to Dominate, You’re Born to Crawl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by JJ -  "can you do one with a guy who is a hot shot, he is arrogant and thinking his a dom, big and buff, getting fucked and put in his place by a woman smaller than him who is fed up with his attitude??? lots of degradation~~ love your stuff :)) xx"</p><p>Includes: Non-con (Rashan deserves it anyway lmao), degradation, aphrodisiacs, mind break, sexual slavery, anal fingering, vaginal sex, face slapping, just the smallest smidgen of spanking and cunnilingus.</p><p>The previous chapter was a wholesome love story. This one is not.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've written 100K of femdom short stories and haven't written a single scene where the male character receives a blowjob. Tee hee.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>A wine bottle being thrown against a wooden pillar signifies that Rashan is in a bit of a sour mood tonight. Which, really, isn’t much of a rare occurrence if the whisperings from the other merchants is anything to go by. Ever since the Western Kingdoms had fallen because of invading forces, he finds his vice at the end of a bottle, even though he chucks the thing across the camp half the time.</p><p> </p><p>So the other merchants say, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Either way, that’s a waste of perfectly good liquor, Caspara muses.</p><p> </p><p>And not really a good first impression, either, but the man has paid for her services with a pretty amount of coin, so she’ll just have to suck it up.</p><p> </p><p>She breathes in the warmth of the desert night air. The dunes at twilight are a vast undulating sea, punctuated by the shadowy silhouettes of cacti and their tents, like great ghost ships upon the sandy waves.</p><p> </p><p>Caspara wrinkles her nose at the thought. Damn, she’s only been here for three days and she already misses the ocean.</p><p> </p><p>And, well, some of it probably has to do with what she’s heard of her new employer.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Rashan? The Merchant Lord? Oh, kiddo,” </em> the sea captain lamented, though it was with a mocking smile, <em> “You’re the seventh guard he’s hired. They’ve never lasted more than a month.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Not like Caspara asked for that little backstory, but apparently this guy’s reputation precedes him since people keep talking about him. It’s a little annoying and honestly, makes her just a teensy <em>bit </em>more curious about this wine bottle swinging fiend she’s about to introduce herself to. </p><p> </p><p>Sighing through her nose, she makes sure to keep her hand on the pommel sheathe of her sword, schools her expression into something neutral, and straightens her back to walk with the confidence and energy of a bodyguard that’s <em> actually </em>had years of training and experience. Maybe this Rashan will be inebriated enough that he won’t notice that she’s new to this whole get-paid-to-protect-someone business.</p><p> </p><p>She pushes the tent flap aside, and upon entry she’s immediately assaulted by the scent of citrus based incense. Something that perplexes her immensely, since she was wholly expecting this thing to reek of alcohol. What she sees next is—</p><p> </p><p>Well, it’s another thing she doesn’t expect. Except for the magnificently brightly coloured silken robes, that is.</p><p> </p><p>What she sees is a man hunched down in front of a table who stares angrily at a series of maps and other documents that are strewn about. A <em> young </em>man at that. His hair flows down his back like black ink of a tilted piece of parchment. His eyes are fox-like and have an icy greyish green hue like the first sprouts of those very hardy plants that grow in the arid desert dunes.</p><p> </p><p>Goddammit. This is unfair. He can’t be handsome <em> and </em>an asshole.</p><p> </p><p>When he looks up to meet her gaze, he scowls immediately and Caspara just barely resists the urge to do an eye-roll at the display. He hasn’t even spoken and she already dislikes him.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you stuck your head up a camel’s arse? Why are you here? I already told you insolent fools to go out and hunt some Firetail Salamanders. We cannot reach the Imperial Capital without them! And make sure to gut the idiot who ate the stock that we had!”</p><p> </p><p>This first meeting is going to go <em> great. </em></p><p> </p><p>The light from the lanterns dance across Rashan’s face, and he does not stumble or slur over his words. He didn’t drink much of that wine before he flung the bottle, then. That annoys her more than his little diatribe he just mouthed off.</p><p> </p><p>She brings her feet together with a <em> clack </em>and salutes to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Caspara el-Ashraf. I hail from the coastal village of Farid. I’ve heeded your call for a guard.” Which he should know, considering he’s already sent a down payment to her, but evidently her little get-up isn’t very distinguishable from the rest of the people here.</p><p> </p><p>She manages to keep her expression impassive as the man skulks his way over to her. He’s taller than her, and by a fair margin, so she has to crane her neck back to keep eye-contact. Rashan narrows his eyes in suspicion, and his expression is the very picture of arrogance.</p><p> </p><p>“Tch. Your gaze is distasteful. Keep your eyes on the floor if you know what’s good for you.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Alrighty, </em>she thinks sarcastically as she does just that. She keeps her face neutral.</p><p> </p><p>For a few seconds she can feel him glaring on her, and he circles her like a prowling lion. When he steps in front of her again he lets out a single bark of laughter, his voice so laden with snide mockery that it might as well be a slap in the face.</p><p> </p><p>“Not as though I had any expectation from someone who lives in that doghouse they call a trading port— really to think that little island is part of the Oslasletopia Empire is an insult to the Emperor’s dynasty.”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara just stares at his feet. Maybe this is a test and he’s actually a nice guy who’s just seeing if she’s prone to useless outbursts when provoked.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Psh. Yeah right, as if. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“How can someone as small as you hope to do <em> anything </em>befitting a bodyguard? Perhaps I should willingly walk into a cave of a beast, just to watch you flounder.” He taunts, and she feels him tuck some of her shoulder length black hair behind her ear as he leans in to whisper.</p><p> </p><p>“Mundane as you are, your face twisted in humiliating defeat would be a sight for the ages, heh.”</p><p> </p><p>Ugh.</p><p> </p><p>Gross.</p><p> </p><p>But she does not react to it. Now that she’s accepted that <em> yep, my boss is an asshole, </em>she finds it surprisingly easy to not react to his half-baked jeers. Honestly, it’s a bit of a blessing he’s ordered to look at the floor so she doesn’t have to get distracted by how handsome he looks. Small miracles.</p><p> </p><p>And it’s all things she’s heard before, so whatever. A verbal barrage is fine.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like a full minute passes before Rashan does anything else.</p><p> </p><p>Apparently satisfied— or… dissatisfied?— with her lack of response, he saunters back to his desk to scowl some more at the papers. When he’s busy muttering some indistinct curses, she flicks her gaze upwards to watch him. She can’t see what the words on the documents say from here, but she can take a gander about their contents.</p><p> </p><p>While, <em> sure, </em> she hasn’t exactly gotten the best first impression on Rashan she supposes it wouldn’t hurt to develop some type of rapport with the guy. She’s going to spend the next several months with him as they travel to the capital, so surely there’s some merit in trying to salvage this already sinking ship. If he’s semi-decent with a conversation she <em> might </em> not feel the need to do anything drastic.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, maybe he’s interested in discussing current events. She knows she is.</p><p> </p><p>“The Kingdom of Rairyn falling to The Despots was an unfortunate hit to our sea trade. Is that the reason the Emperor has called for all the merchants to reach the capital? Maybe so he has ample supply in case they become locked in from invading forces?”</p><p> </p><p>He freezes, body still hunched over, and she can see his jaw tense noticeably. He flexes his fingers, his hands trembling.</p><p> </p><p>He’s fuming. Whoops.</p><p> </p><p>Heavy footsteps quickly approach her, and when he grabs a wine bottle she returns her gaze to the ground. He looms over her while practically spitting out his quick, furious words.</p><p> </p><p>“The orcs may have some semblance of talent of navigating the ocean, but they will never be able to conquer the vast seas of the Empire, and they certainly will <em> never </em>reach the Imperial Capital. The West may have fallen, but that only shows how weak those elves and lightskins were all along.”</p><p> </p><p>She hears the bottle’s cork pop out of the bottle and before she can even think of stealing a glance to see what type of wine he’s about to chug in front of her, Rashan instead thinks it prudent to <em> pour </em> the fucking thing on her head. The wine cascades down her hair and dribbles across her aquiline nose and the rest of her face. She can’t really stop herself from tasting <em> some </em>of it when it runs across her mouth. Hm. What little she can taste is of intense effervescence. </p><p> </p><p>Ah, this is sparkling wine. Probably real expensive too.</p><p> </p><p>She’s starting to see why this guy’s guards never lasted a month. This waste of perfectly good wine would be infuriating to fucking anyone!</p><p> </p><p>When Rashan is finished pouring the drink on her head, Caspara has to give herself some props for managing to stay completely still. With her hands clasped behind her and back straight, she's the image of a dutiful guard. Huh, maybe even the hours she spent practicing outside her cabin was worth it in the end.</p><p> </p><p>He takes what she thinks is <em> far </em>too much time just standing there and watching her. She hears him blow a breath from between his teeth, apparently frustrated, and barks out his next words.</p><p> </p><p>“You insult me with your paltry assumptions. Go shovel the camel manure.”</p><p> </p><p>With a small bow, she turns on her heel to do as commanded. When she leaves the tent she doesn’t miss the gazes of everyone else on her, probably looking at her with something akin to pity. Not that she really cares all that much, honestly she’s not even paying attention because she’s thinking a little bit <em> too </em>much about how Rashan had practically bit out those words alongside his almost comical display of wasting wine.</p><p> </p><p>He’s frustrated, obviously, and Caspara would like to think it’s because he's actually afraid of the thought of The Despots reaching their shores.</p><p> </p><p>And with that thought, she has to stop herself from outright smirking.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The huge, golden sun rises over the edge of the sweeping desert, and its rays fall on a lonely camel and caravan train that is already on the move. Beads of seat cling onto Caspara’s dark skin, and it doesn’t help she’s wearing a near stupid amount of layers of linen and chainmail. </p><p> </p><p>And she’s walking, apparently not important enough for her own camel. The clunking from the shimmering jewels and shining metals that are draped over Rashan’s camel is enough to keep her awake at least. They’ve been at it for a few hours now, and apparently not even the midday stops Rashan from wasting his seemingly infinite supply of expensive drinks, as he takes a swig and flings the bottle away on the dunes. </p><p> </p><p>Well, maybe the scorpions will appreciate the gesture.</p><p> </p><p>At times, Rashan feels the need to deride the others traveling with them.</p><p> </p><p>“To be forced to travel with these fools… It is the apex of insults. This trip is not something that merits my true effort, after all. Once we reach the capital they should all grovel for forgiveness for forcing me to spend so much as a minute with them.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s all vehement muttering that Caspara can only hear because she’s walking next to him. Almost like he’s trying to convince himself of something. <em> Heh. </em></p><p> </p><p>After traipsing in the sand for several more hours, they begin the lumbering process of setting up their tents. Everyone except Rashan, anyway. He has a sofa set up for him to lounge in, his long braided hair trailing over his shoulder with two servants slowly fanning massive ostrich feather fans on either side of him. Caspara stands slightly behind him, getting the perfect view to watch him do another thing he apparently likes— tormenting some poor schmuck. </p><p> </p><p>A servant in a gauzy white tunic approaches him with a golden platter of some juicy looking figs.</p><p> </p><p>Something that doesn’t impress Rashan.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this <em> it? </em>If it wasn’t considered distasteful I would tie you to a post and leave you in the desert for when next we move out. Go get me grapes and pheasant, and make it quick.”</p><p> </p><p>The servant bows and fumbled towards a tent halfway across the camp, soon stumbling out with a platter with the requested food. In response, Rashan merely points his chin upwards in a disdainful look.</p><p> </p><p>“This pheasant has a laughable amount of Zudian spices. Do you think me a Westerner? Go get more spices!”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara can see the servant’s expression become twinged with annoyance, but it’s subdued. He runs off to get several cans of spice from varying origins. When he sprinkles some of them on, Rashan makes another quip, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve decided this dish needs some extra,” Even from where she stands, Caspara can see the brazen and cocky smile playing on his lips, “Figs. Go retrieve them.”</p><p> </p><p>The tirade continues on with several more ridiculous requests and ends with the servant putting his hands on his knees and panting wildly. Seeing the man so winded, Rashan takes the opportunity to turn his head back, eyes narrowed and glinting with hints of sadism. </p><p> </p><p>“No meal is complete without some dessert. Go get something. Impress me.”</p><p> </p><p>She bows, then begins a light jog to the supply tent. It’s a bit of a long trek but she’s soon greeted with boxes upon boxes of food she’s never once been able to afford in her lifetime. Her eyes settle on a crate of Aish el Saraya— a delicious bread pudding that makes her mouth water at the mere sight of it. She hopes this will be satisfactory, and if not, that’ll just further cement the image of Rashan she has that paints him of a wasteful glutton.</p><p> </p><p>And, well, she needs him to eat this for an entirely different reason.</p><p> </p><p>Looking around and confirming no witnesses, she takes a small knife to horizontally slice the middle of the pudding. Prying it open, she then takes a small pouch hanging off her belt and sprinkles a <em> very </em>special ingredient into the soft and creamy dessert. It’s a tiny amount as to not change the flavour— making it undetectable for the most part.</p><p> </p><p>That done, Caspara jogs back to Rashan, who in turn makes a show at appraising the pudding. To her delight— that she doesn’t show in her face— he does eat it, but he does make her run laps as he orders to get more food only to promptly return them.</p><p> </p><p>Not that it’s much of an issue. She does not tire like the servant, and she doesn’t miss the scowl on Rashan’s face at her lack of an outward reaction. It causes him to make her do this every time he desires to eat something.</p><p> </p><p>Which is just perfect.</p><p> </p><p>Because unbeknownst to him, she makes it a habit to begin putting in the new ingredient in every one of his meals.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It becomes a bit of a routine. They wake, they walk for hours, they set up camp, Caspara has to run around for his food, Rashan makes displays of fury whenever he looks at the maps and documents, she’s ordered to do a variety of menial tasks, and every now and then he’ll pour another bottle of whine over her head whenever he deems that her existence has annoyed him sufficiently enough.</p><p> </p><p>Every time she does not change her impassive expression, which in turn makes the whole wine pouring thing increase in frequency. Especially when she lasts longer than any guard he’s had, and she’ll admit, the whisperings of awe she hears from the camp is certainly a bit of an ego boost.</p><p> </p><p>And maybe Rashan is a bit of a full blown maniac, because when they continue on their travels he feels the need to actually attempt to kill her. He’s <em> that </em>desperate for a reaction, huh.</p><p> </p><p>The wind stirs up the wispy sand and the sun’s never ending rays beats down on them mercilessly. Her tongue feels as if it’s coated in fur and her lips are chapped and dry, making Caspara wish he would take this moment to actually pour wine on her if only to momentarily alleviate the stifling heat that’s hitting her.</p><p> </p><p>The caravans and camels are halted to a stop as Rashan looks at something in the distance with a spyglass. Taking her gaze upwards she sees a smile widely, nearly maniacally, and a low bellowing comes from deep within his stomach as he cackles out a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Aha! A manticore!” He exclaims, turning towards her with impish glee, “Go on, then. Do your duty and protect your master.” He cackles some more.</p><p> </p><p>“Make sure that you strive to not bore me with your floundering, hah!”</p><p> </p><p>She does not respond with abject horror like he was probably expecting, instead as usual she bows, this time uttering a quick and monotonous “Yes, sir,” just to really piss him off. The way his smile falls faster than a corpse in cement boot is the icing on the cake.</p><p> </p><p>Caspara makes her way to the manticore with an easy stride. It’s a fearsome enough beast, with the body of a lion, a head that looks disturbingly far too human, and a scorpion-like tail that looms above it. Sure, they’re kind of a big deal, but it’s no real issue.</p><p> </p><p>Because while acting as a bodyguard might be new to her, fighting and killing things is not.</p><p> </p><p>And it just so happens that she knows exactly how to slay manticores. They’re an awfully predictable species, kind of like Rashan himself.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long for the prowling manticore to spot her and it instantly thunders across the dunes to attack her. Now herein lies the most annoying part— she rolls to the side and sand immediately gets into her clothes and armour. Caspara doesn’t like sand. It’s coarse, rough, and irritating… and it gets everywhere. </p><p> </p><p>Really, she assumes most people get killed by manticores because they become too distracted by trying to get fucking sand out of her boots.</p><p> </p><p>She avoids the beast’s pounce, quickly getting back on her footing and unsheathing her sword. </p><p> </p><p>Sand flies at each movement the manticore does, creating its own tornado of sorts. It’s part of how they hunt— these beasts are smart enough to know that the dirt can provide an excellent distraction. Caspara manages to avoid the barrage every time, and the manticore seen devolves into a predictable bombardment of claw swipes and strikes from its tail.</p><p> </p><p>When she parries the stinger from its tail, a satisfying <em> clang </em>echoes throughout the desert, almost making her smile. </p><p> </p><p>She does not run to perform her own strike, because she knows the best way to deal with these fuckers is patience. A single swipe from its claw would be enough to kill her so she avoids doing anything drastic too soon. She knows that she needs to find a discernible pattern first before attacking.</p><p> </p><p>Usually, she’d feel the need to put an extra spark in her fighting. Some <em> pizazz. </em>Sometimes if she’s feeling showy enough she takes out a canister of Firetail Salamander blood and drinks it, which will temporarily grant her the power to breathe out fire like a dragon. It’s a useful trick, but after walking for hours in the beating sun she finds herself simply wanting to get this joke of a fight over with.</p><p> </p><p>Afterall, manticores are predictable.</p><p> </p><p>And therefore boring.</p><p> </p><p>When she figures out its pattern— three swipes of its claw, right, right, and then left; followed by its jumping back and then pouncing forward with a tail strike— she begins walking backwards so that she’s on a dune that’s on a noticeable incline. </p><p> </p><p><em>Clang, clang, clang</em>— there goes its claw attacks. When it jumps back, Caspara bends her knees in preparation. Body filled with tension is released when she times her jumping alongside the manticore’s jump. Her knees land on the sand, and because of the incline, she slides down it, lifting her sword above her head.</p><p> </p><p>Because of its size, the manticore jumps directly above her.</p><p> </p><p>But not above her sword.</p><p> </p><p>With a <em> scchhlick </em>the blade pierces its abdomen, slicing its stomach open as she slides beneath it.</p><p> </p><p>Oozing red liquid as clear as rubies bursts forth, and the beasts twirls violently when it lands, though its intestines spewing onto the ground in pinkish brown coils prevents it from doing much else. It gurgles out a string of noises. It attempts to run towards her again, fueled by nothing more but primitive instinct, but the gushing blood flow and current lack of a couple of organs from the slash makes it stumble.</p><p> </p><p>The sand becomes dyed in red, and the blood surges as its heart struggles to save it.</p><p> </p><p>Caspara rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck, yawning at the display and leisurely strolling towards her downed quarry. With a single thrust, she violently stabs her sword in the manticore’s forehead. She, too, becomes doused in blood like the sand. It’s actually kind of nice because despite it being warm, it’s less warm than the sun, so it kind of cools her down in a fucked up sort of way.</p><p> </p><p>She makes the trek back towards the caravans, and everyone almost reverently side step away from her as they stare. Rashan has an expression that speaks of only aghast bewilderment— a face she quickly decides suits that pretty little face. His hands shake, threatening to drop the spyglass, and he wets his lips.</p><p> </p><p>And is it the blood in her eyes, or does she detect a bit of blush on his cheeks?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Interesting. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t last long, because she decides to be cheeky and actually smirk at the cocky bastard. </p><p> </p><p>“Was that sufficiently entertaining enough, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>He immediately turns away, muttering a curse, and proceeds to yell at everyone else in the vicinity.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you fools gawking at? We’ve got a capital to reach, or would you rather just stand here and wait for another manticore? Fucking move!”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara doesn’t stop smirking as she walks beside his camel.</p><p> </p><p>And Rashan gradually becomes red in his face when he’s around her in increasing frequency, just the way she expected.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Every evening, Rashan begins furiously orders his tent to be kept farther and farther from the rest of everyone else because he begins making some <em> very </em>interesting noises in the dead of night. Sometimes when they continue to travel he scratches at his throat, and he sweats profusely, he even actually downs an entire bottle of wine in an attempt to parch his apparent thirst. </p><p> </p><p>He becomes more fidgety. More snippy. His skin seemingly breaks out in hives and he hides himself in the confines of his tent.</p><p> </p><p>When he’s busy having a… <em> moment </em>in his tent, Caspara stands outside of. If she strains her ears she can hear from muffled noises.</p><p> </p><p>“Uuu… c-curses… w-w-what’s… happening to m-me… Ngh…”</p><p> </p><p>And it’s not like she’s the only one that notices his increasingly erratic behaviour. She sees a group of servants, guards and merchants huddled together— all women— apparently deep in discussion of what’s occurring. Their glances at her turns into something else.</p><p> </p><p>It becomes something <em> knowing.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Every now and then, she hears whispers regarding the activity of The Despots from across the ocean.</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, Rashan is not the only man who has his food spiked with a new ingredient.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Rashan attempts something very stupid after a few more days.</p><p> </p><p>First, he throws a wine bottle that nearly hits her head, then he stumbles towards her. His movements are reminiscent of a drunkard, as are his disheveled hair and messy robes, but he does not smell of alcohol at all. There’s perspiration on his brow, and a bright red flush on his face Caspara probably spends too much time enjoying staring at.</p><p> </p><p>Though her having her back against a wooden pillar and his hands beside on either side of her head takes some of the enjoyment out of everything.</p><p> </p><p>His lips quiver, as does the rest of his body, and he rasps. “Y-You.”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara lifts a single brow, but otherwise her face is as neutral as it ever is.</p><p> </p><p>But inside she’s relishing in everything quite thoroughly.</p><p> </p><p>“My, whatever is the issue, sir? Do you need me to get you a snack?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>He grunts something out she doesn’t catch, throat bobbing as he attempts to actually formulate a sentence. Her head reaches his chest, so she’s currently got a decent shot of cleavage. It’s <em> very </em>nice.</p><p> </p><p>“I have been struck with a need,” he says quickly, and she’s surprised he didn’t stutter. From his furrowed brows she can tell it’s a concentrated effort on his part. “And it is a need... I-I’ve decided you will satisfy.”</p><p> </p><p>Because she was about to go to bed, Caspara is dressed in a simple tunic and pants rather than her usual chainmail. His hand slithers down beneath her shirt, the grip on her side almost bruising, and his hand moves across his torso. Seems like that requires effort as well, as his hand shakes and quivers, and desperation for the warmth of another body is almost palpable.</p><p> </p><p>Caspara is finding it very difficult to not grin.</p><p> </p><p>She continues looking at his heaving chest, Rashan’s voice even raspier by the second. She wonders if she’ll see him drooling if she looks up.</p><p> </p><p>“A-All of the world’s treasures... b-belong to me. I’m t-the… wealthiest… m-man next to the E-Emperor… y-y-you should be thankful for the privilege… f-for being my p-personal whore…”</p><p> </p><p>He sloppily grabs one of her breasts, and he pants like a wily dog.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a lot of things she tolerates, Caspara muses.</p><p> </p><p>This is not one of them.</p><p> </p><p>There are some merits to being short— namely being the perfect height to grab the bastard by the balls.</p><p> </p><p>A wide smirk breaks out on her face from the shrill <em> squeal </em> that tumbles out of Rashan, and his knees buckle, and with his back hunched the the two of them become face-to-face. The iron grip on his <em> treasures </em>doesn’t lessen, and Caspara merely tilts her head curiously as her fingers tighten for juuuuuuust a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>“Nngh, you—!” he grits out, his voice raising an octave as he desperately claws at her wrist but to no avail. “A-Agh… nggh! U-Unhand mee—mggh…!”</p><p> </p><p>The condescension in Caspara’s tone could break glass. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been thinking, you’re awfully young to have the title of a Merchant Lord. Tell me, did you just take the title from your mommy and daddy? You haven’t earned a single thing in your life, have you?” She chuckles darkly when his eyes become as wide as saucers, “Is your attitude because you’re trying to compensate for your lack of skill in trading, eeeh? Or is it because you’re scared because you’re exactly the type of man an orc would rape to death? Maybe a bit of both, hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>He gasps, though it’s not from shock, but rather <em> arousal. </em>His scarlet face does him no favours when he attempts a pathetic excuse for a glare. As much as she dearly wants to continue, Caspara lets him go. She will only continue this when the time is right. He’s like a manticore— predictable, and when he does what she assumes he will, she will have some proper fun with him.</p><p> </p><p>Rashan nearly falls to his knees, but he manages to just barely recenter himself. A loud <em> crack </em>rents the air as he slaps her, though it’s as sloppy as his groping. And footing— since he stumbles where he stands, and now she can see some drool trailing down his plump lips.</p><p> </p><p>“You… you…!” He screams, though his voice becomes a string of noises she doesn’t understand. He stumbles away after probably mouthing off a threat in his head, and Caspara doesn’t feel much of a sting on her cheek. Her special little gift she’s given him is taking effect.</p><p> </p><p>And it’s taking effect on the rest of the men around here. They’re gradually becoming weaker and weaker, their minds becoming a hazy mess of lust… among other things. Such meek little things— just the way Caspara likes them.</p><p> </p><p>Distantly, she hears some snickering from the other women in the camp. As her excitement bubbles within her like a cauldron, she strides towards them and tells them the next phase of their little plan.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long for the perfect opportunity that she was wholly expecting to present itself. </p><p> </p><p>Caspara is alerted that Rashan wants her in his tent immediately, and she does just that. When she enters, she’s greeted with a sweat slicked man with unruly hair currently dry heaving and clinging onto the table for dear life.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, and he’s naked too, how considerate. </p><p> </p><p>Impressive as it is that he’s still standing, Caspara would rather take note of his toned ass and rippling back muscles. <em> Very, </em>very nice. </p><p> </p><p>Upon hearing the tent flap be moved aside, he swivels around, eyes wild like a man who’s been lost in the desert for months. With quaking hands he points at her accusingly. </p><p> </p><p>“Y-You dont k-know… your p-place bitch…!” Each utterance is practically a growl mixed with a shout, which is all well and good but now Caspara is staring at his rock hard cock with her hand on her chin and with a questioning gaze.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a good looking cock. Thick and girthy and already leaking with desperation.</p><p> </p><p>Rashan babbles on.</p><p> </p><p>“For t-that… ugnh…. For that n-nonsense you pulled y-yesterday I’ll have… I’ll have you s-stripped bare and w-writhing beneath me!! Your vex—vexa—vex—” He splutters, and apparently big boy words like <em> ‘vexations’ </em>is too much for him now, “I’ll have you a-as a doormat… nngh… b-by the time I am finished with you! Y-You will... e-earn every food you get on you— on your hands and knees!!”</p><p> </p><p>Humming lowly, Caspara lazily begins to disrobe. She takes off her boots and pants off first, followed by her shirt. Shadows dance across both of them from the candles and lanterns, and she licks her lips.</p><p> </p><p>Watching that, Rashan barks out a cackle that borders on maniacal. “Ahah! I-I see your stunt was… mmhng, w-was a mishap! It is f-fortunate that… y-you know where you belong, w-whore!”</p><p> </p><p>She walks towards him with an easy stride and he spreads his arms wide as if he’s going to embrace her. His eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets and he bares his canines in a toothy smirk.</p><p> </p><p>She matches his smirk with one of her own, and she reels her arm back with a clenched fist.</p><p> </p><p>All these taunts and insults he liked to spit at her the entire time she’s been playing bodyguard, they’re <em> all </em> things she’s heard before—</p><p> </p><p>Because <em> she’s </em> the one that’s said them to the men she’s fucked before.</p><p> </p><p>With a lightning quick jab, her fist goes straight to his stomach. Rashan gasps harshly, spit flying, and his menacing eyes are screwed shut as his knees wobbles and crashes to the ground. Caspara’s grin reaches her ears as she watches the man pathetically clutch his stomach as he pants and groans. </p><p> </p><p>She narrows her eyes almost playfully.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, when you decided to pour wine on me for the first time was the moment I decided this is exactly what I wanted to do with you. To think there was ever a moment I thought I could have an actual rapport with an idiot like you.” She laughs mockingly, “At least you’re handsome, haha! Who knows what I would have done with you then!”</p><p> </p><p>For good measure, she kicks at him, the blow making him groan further.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmgh… nngh!”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on now, you’ve been reading about The Despots haven’t you? Don’t you know they use Teshvanian mushrooms to subdue their whores?” She kicks him again, “It’s something I’ve always fucking dreamed out, you know. Bringing someone like you down. Fuck, can you believe how expensive those mushrooms can be here? But I’ve always had them on my person as I waited for the perfect moment. But I’ve never entertained the fantasy because it was just that— a fantasy.”</p><p> </p><p>Her stares down at him with both disdain and lust, her core feeling warmer by the second. A tension unfurls within her, and Caspara leans down to roughly grab onto his long hair to snap his neck back to force him to show his face at her.</p><p> </p><p>She spits at him.</p><p> </p><p>“But then you had to waste some perfectly good wine, hahaha! I’ve been waiting to do this since forever!”</p><p> </p><p>“U-Ugh…” He grunts, “I-I’ll have you… flayed alive… f-for this…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’d love to see you try, <em> sir,” </em>She taunts, “You’ve gotten so much mushrooms in you, I wonder what would happen if I just decided to stop feeding you it, hmm? I hear they’ve got some nasty withdrawal symptoms.” She shoves his face against the ground. “Look at you, trying to act all high and mighty. I’ve seen the way you got all hot and bothered when I killed the manticore, how you squealed when I grabbed your balls. I guess what they say is true, Teshvanian mushrooms really do bring out the natural masochist inside of a man!”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmphgf….nnggh…” If he’s trying to say anything, it doesn’t come out at all, considering he’s currently enjoying a face full of dirt.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes narrow with sadistic glee, and she throws his words back at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Mundane as you are, your face twisted in humiliating defeat would be a sight for the ages, heh.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The mushrooms must be tightening its clutches around Rashan— she’s heard they make a man’s body feel like it's melting— because he spasms uncontrollably in his restraints.</p><p> </p><p>With his wrists bound to his ankles, he’s forced in a position where he’s ass up and face down. She kneels behind him, and since she isn’t currently forcing his face into the ground he’s able to make his dumb little quips. </p><p> </p><p>“I-If… If you l-let me go… unngh… I’ll—”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara unabashedly traces his asshole from between his firm, nicely shaped asscheeks with her fingers. It makes his hips jump, and Rashan reflexively raises his voice from the sudden stimulation that his body was obviously yearning for so long now.</p><p> </p><p>“Uuu… haah, d-don’t touch me!”</p><p> </p><p>He says that, but his hips move back and forth by themselves, responding to the movement of her deft fingers that continue to play with him, but not yet enter him. Rashan’s breathing begins to become rougher, bit by bit.</p><p> </p><p>“And here I thought you <em> wanted </em>me to fuck you. Come on, don’t get shy now.” She says happily, a stark contrast to the torture she was currently putting him through. She doesn’t even need to wonder about the unbearable heat he must be feeling— merely pressing her thumb against his entrance gives her an inkling of how warm his wanton body is becoming.</p><p> </p><p>“Uugh… nhah... uhii—?!”</p><p> </p><p>At his shrill and laughable reaction, Caspara smiles and persistently repeats pressing against him but again, not entering him. She leans over him, watching how he firmly bites his lip in a vain attempt to stop the wave of humiliation that’s hitting him.</p><p> </p><p>She laughs. “Come on now, don’t try to resist it, haha! I’m sure everyone knew that deep down the big bad Merchant Lord was a lewd, shameless little whore this entire time! Just embrace it, I’m doing you a favour!”</p><p> </p><p>As the stimulation she gives him gains strength, a voice tinged with sweet desire begins leaking out from the gap between Rashan’s lips. His hole quivers just beneath her fingertips.</p><p> </p><p>“Awh, that’s a nice reaction. You were born for this, weren’t you? Slut.”</p><p> </p><p>Beyond their tent, she can hear the echoes of the other women having their own <em> fun </em> with their newly acquired toys <em> .  </em></p><p> </p><p>It’s useless to resist. The moment The Despots took over the West, something like this was inevitable. Caspara is merely speeding up the process, and her cunt begins to fucking <em> throb </em>at the thought of meeting her idol— Ghorza, the war-queen, harbringer of the new world.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, this is where men like Rashan belonged! Where <em> every </em>man belonged!</p><p> </p><p>Despite his debased whining, he’s still able to manage a glare to express his chagrin. She can see goosebumps on his skin, and she licks her smirking lips. When she takes her thumb away, she does not miss how his hips buck towards her as if desperately wanting her touch to return. She quickly slathers her digit with some lube that she had procured from the same tent she got the restraints.</p><p> </p><p>Mortification and anger rages on his expression. Nevertheless, his body responds to her when she returns her thumb to his asshole, and she’s about to show him the pleasure of submitting to someone like her— show him a glimpse of what his future of being a fucking useless whore will be filled with.</p><p> </p><p>Caspara does not waste any time as she presses hard enough to enter his warm hole.</p><p> </p><p>“How is it? Feels good, doesn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ooh… ooh… ngghh… noooh…” He slurs his words as she moves her thumb back and forth, and while his face is just twisted with humiliation, his body clearly covets the intrusion with how his sphincter muscles clench around her thumb. It feels desperate, almost like he’s begging for another finger.</p><p> </p><p>Well, who is she to not give him what he wants since he asked <em> so </em>nicely?</p><p> </p><p>She relieves him of her thumb, and then adds in her pointer and middle finger, finding a fast and unrelenting rhythm as she pumps in and out of him. Her free hand reels back, and comes crashing down in a spank that makes him heave a strangled cry. She laughs again, fucking euphoria hitting her in waves as she continues to caress the insides of this disgusting trash. Her core feels impossibly taut, and her slickness begins to trail down her inner thighs.</p><p> </p><p>At her continuous assault Rashan’s hips quiver, and he arches his back like a bow.</p><p> </p><p>And his continuous expression of resistance only further spurs on her sadism.</p><p> </p><p>His voice becomes louder and his skin more flushed when she adds a third finger. </p><p> </p><p>“Hehehe, look at you writhing around like this. How long have you been dreaming of this moment? You secretly wanted The Despots to take over Oslasletopia, didn’t you? Well don’t you worry about that,” She hits his asscheek again, “I’ll be sure they receive a warm welcome of desperate manwhores like you just begging to get fucked!”</p><p> </p><p>Rashan’s heavy breathing comes out with good rhythm that matches the movements of her ceaseless fingers that mercilessly fuck him. His body is steeped in pleasure, and his voice—</p><p> </p><p>“Nghoo… noooh… nnggh… s-stop…”</p><p> </p><p>“Hahah, come on, you can squeal better than that, I know you can!”</p><p> </p><p>The very depths of Caspara’s body aches as she bestows more humiliation on the whore she looms over. And she’s not even thinking of touching his cock yet!</p><p> </p><p>She hooks her fingers against <em> that </em>spot, and a sudden voice of delight erupts from Rashan as his body convulses— as though his body is joyously accepting her violent fingering.</p><p> </p><p>“Nghh..!? Aaah! Aaaahn!” He chokes on his own words, laden with growing desperation, “Wuh… whyyy?!... s-something like this...!”</p><p> </p><p>“Never been touched there huh?” She keeps her fingers assaulting his prostate, pressing further down and down, and Rashan’s toes curl as he fruitlessly attempts to flail his bound limbs around.</p><p> </p><p>“Shu— shut uhp… ngh… shuddup… haah, nnh… make id end…”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara roars, “Oh don’t you worry, I’ll finish you off soon!”</p><p> </p><p>Another smack on the face is apparently enough to send Rashan over the edge of euphoria. Without the composure to give a normal reply, he howls in accordance with the surging pleasure. He writhes around while swinging his backside and scattering his pearly white semen on the ground. Being under the throes of Teshvanian mushrooms, every touch and every bit of stimulation is increased tenfold, making this no doubt the greatest orgasm he’s ever experienced in his pitiful life.</p><p> </p><p>“You came hard, not just from your asshole, but also from being spanked, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>She forcefully pushes her fingers even further with a predatory smirk. Her three fingers continue to rub and dig into his intestinal walls.</p><p> </p><p>“Heuh?! Nngh…!” His hips jump, and Rashan lets out a shrill voice of delight again. Caspara leans forward, seeing his cumming face on full display, his tongue slovenly hanging from his mouth as his eyes roll upwards.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, don’t be shy, the mushrooms let you cum as much as you like! Indulge in all the pleasure your whore body desires, haha!”</p><p> </p><p>The trembling of his body becomes extreme, and if he were standing he definitely would have collapsed at this point. Despite that, he apparently finds the strength to tighten the muscles of his ass, which makes Caspara shout in glee.</p><p> </p><p>“Ooh? You want me to continue digging inside of you, don’t you?!”</p><p> </p><p>His debauched whines is music to her ears. “Shh...shhtoooop… nngh!”</p><p> </p><p>“Come now, it’s not healthy to not be honest with yourself,” she says in a sing-song voice, adding a fourth finger as her pace does not relent in the slightest. “Have I found your limit already, whore?!” She heaps scorn upon him as she spreads her fingers apart.</p><p> </p><p>“U-Ugh…!” Rashan uselessly bounds his feet on the ground, wiggling in any attempt to get away from her torture. </p><p> </p><p>Caspara is enjoying it. She’s fucking <em> loving </em> it <em> . </em> To debase a man, another human, was the only thing that got her off. The arousal flows through her veins like molten lava, and the sweat and goosebumps on her skin makes her shiver. She was a terror in her own village, tormenting the other men, but they deserved it on merit of being born male, <em> heh. </em></p><p> </p><p>But as much as she enjoys torturing a man with his asshole, she decides she wishes to do something else now.</p><p> </p><p>She gives Rashan no time to recover as she quickly removes her fingers from him, and she watches his stretched asshole quivering for a few seconds before he falls to his side. His body twitches, and despite climaxing his body, still indulging in the afterglow of the fingering, continues to reach the peak of ecstasy.</p><p> </p><p>“Nghhoo...ooh… aaah… haah…”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara takes a look between his legs, seeing his puddle of semen. She stands, ignoring the throbbing in her cunt, and walks over to roughly grab his shimmering black hair that’s messily draped over his face, and she relishes in the hiss of pain— and a bit of pleasure— that’s forced out of him. She forces him to awkwardly amble backwards and when he’s at the spot she wants him, she unceremoniously shoves him face-first into his own cum.</p><p> </p><p>She forces him to stay there, pressing him further into it and move him left and right to <em> really </em>get him in there. She sees him clench his teeth in vexation, though his blushing face and glazed eyes show his resistance is on the cusp of crumbling. Ah, the magic of aphrodisiacs really does make life all the more enjoyable.</p><p> </p><p>“Go ahead. Lick it. Taste yourself.” To further disgrace him, she spits at his face again.</p><p> </p><p>With visible concentrated effort, he seems to force himself— or perhaps it’s the aphrodisiacs forcing his body reacting on its own again— to sloppily lick at his own cum, and grunts out some lewd noises.</p><p> </p><p>“U-Ugh…”</p><p> </p><p>As she watches the filthy display she gropes her own breast and rubs her erect clit for a few seconds, but the tension in her body becomes far too much for her bear. She’s going to give this whore a fucking he’ll never forget, it’ll be seared into his mind and every night he’ll be tormented by the image of her dominating and debasing him. It will remind him of what he is— exactly like a bottle of wine, tempting and disposable.</p><p> </p><p>She roughly flips him to his back, taking a moment to savour his cum and tear stained face before she stands over his still erect cock. It’s red like his face, and weeping just like him too. She continues standing at him, merely staring with a brazen smile.</p><p> </p><p>And she continues just standing there.</p><p> </p><p>Doing nothing, until—</p><p> </p><p>A shriek like gasp erupts from Rashan, and he bucks his hips desperately in wanton desire, body still trembling. </p><p> </p><p>“Puh… p-please…”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara raises a single questioning brow.</p><p> </p><p>His face becomes helplessly tense, he had been forcibly filled with so much pleasure that her not doing anything to him now is probably frying his brain, erasing any semblance of paltry resistance. Even forgetting to hold back his voice now, he writhes in agony as his cock bobs up and down from his bucking hips.</p><p> </p><p>“Uu, p-please…”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara squats above him, just hovering above his sad cock but now still not touching him. Her flowing juices, however, drips on his tip, which is enough to make him squeal something incomprehensible. </p><p> </p><p>“Look at, all your bravado gone like a blown out flame. You have no endurance, huh? If you’re going to bend your will immediately like this, you won’t get anyone to follow you, mister Merchant Lord.” She chuckles lowly, “But don’t worry, I know you <em> really </em>just want to be whore slave. Be sure to thank me when I finish your taming, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>His body continues to react on its own as he pleads. “W-Want to cum… want to… cum… ah… a-again… p-please…”</p><p> </p><p>When she rubs her entrance against his tip, he <em> screams. </em></p><p> </p><p>Caspara exclaims gleefully. “Haha! Disgraceful! You’re such a fucking disgrace!”</p><p> </p><p>Feeling her own body shiver in anticipation, she lowers her waist and allows him to be inside of her. He stretches her quite nicely, and a sigh comes out from between her teeth. She had fucked many men before, but every time a good cock makes a shock run through her body in growing arousal and lust. She bares her canines in sadistic pleasure, moving her hips upwards only to mercilessly slam down on him, again and again and again.</p><p> </p><p>“Oogh, ooh… f-fuuuuck....” Rashan throws his head back, bucking his hips in tandem with her gyrations, his gasping voice in sync with everything rushing out from his moist lips.</p><p> </p><p>But she doesn’t want him getting any stupid ideas, so reaches her hand back to give a good old fashion backhanded slap.</p><p> </p><p>The gargled noise of pain that comes out of him makes her clench her vaginal muscles around his cock. “Let me give you a little lesson. Men never fuck me. They may think they do, half-witted as your kind are, but <em> I’m </em>the one that fucks them. You being inside me of a privilege that you don’t deserve, and I don’t give a single shit if you end up enjoying it or not.”</p><p> </p><p>He stares at the place where their bodies are joined, almost in awe, more incomprehensible whining and moaning coming out of his lips in waves. Gleefully, she slaps his other cheek, which promptly makes his back arch. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you understand, you stupid whore?!”</p><p> </p><p>Together with an obscene sloshing noise, his cock is buried as far back as it can in her cunt, and she bounces against him with reckless abandon, chasing after her own pleasure. Her muscles firmly squeeze his flesh. She slaps him again, stopping to furiously rub her clit only to continue slapping. That becomes a continuous pattern as she rides him to oblivion.</p><p> </p><p>Rashan’s body wallows in ecstasy with every hit that’s forced upon him. A look of pure pleasure makes it way onto his expression as he wiggles his body back and forth.</p><p> </p><p>“Nnh! Aah! A-Aaah! I-I-I understand—!! Mmgh…!” </p><p> </p><p>Ragged breathing and his voice of masochism mixed with her sadism. As Caspara endlessly repeats her pistoning— the air always echoing with the sound of her slapping him every now and then— she begins working herself towards climax. </p><p> </p><p>She pounds her hips against his with enough force to literally knock the wind out of him, making his body buck violently. By this point, a small trickle of blood comes out from the corner of his lips due to her hits. The twitching of her vaginal walls intensify at the deplorable sight. </p><p> </p><p>She feels so hot, so swollen, so engulfed in bliss—</p><p> </p><p>Caspara visions whites out for a moment as the tension in body fucking <em> explodes.  </em></p><p> </p><p>With a howl, her body trembles from the stimulation from the divine stimulation on her cunt. As the orgasm sweeps over her, she squirts a transparent liquid. She bites her lip, hard, and her breasts sway up and down with every ragged breath. She sighs contentedly as she shivers from the aftershocks. Though the moment is ruined by the whore she had just fucked.</p><p> </p><p>“Uah… ah, aahhn…”</p><p> </p><p>There is weak thrusting beneath her, but it’s hopelessly desperate, as if Rashan’s drooling expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Puh—lease…”</p><p> </p><p>Even being infertile, Caspara feels no desire to allow him to finish inside of her. She knows he’s close so she stands and completely unsheathes from her.</p><p> </p><p>And as much as she enjoys the ensuing wailing that comes from it, she does something she’s wanted to do for a while.</p><p> </p><p>Without warning, she presses down on his cock with her foot and unable to bear the stimulation that comes with it, he gives off screams and bucks his hips. She twists her foot and—</p><p> </p><p>“Ngh..!? Haa, uah!! C-C-Crushed…! Y-You’re…!”</p><p> </p><p>While shaking his head fitfully, as if in denial despite his obvious desperation, Rashan screeches at the top of his voice. Caspara lips slant upwards on their own, and a derisive smile appears on her face, feeling a new wave of pleasure as she stamps on his cock. Even with everything that has happened, he widens his eyes in pure surprise as she twists her foot again to put further strength to it and what she was predicting happens.</p><p> </p><p>“Nnh… aghhagh?!” His vulgar squealing is uttered out with a hoarse voice.</p><p> </p><p>The richest Merchant Lord of the entire country transforms into a true whore, firing off another shameful scream as he reaches climax under her heel. She knows that there is still taming to be done, as whenever he regains his bearings he’ll probably be an insufferable dumbass again. But before she has to deal with more training, she feasts her eyes with the sight of a man writhes and convulses on the floor, no longer having any pride or dignity. It really does seem like he’s giving an unconditional surrender. Rashan continues to raise a voice of now with delight, wallowing in the pleasure she had so <em> graciously </em>gifted him.</p><p> </p><p>She still breathes raggedly due to her own orgasm, but she has more composure than he ever will.</p><p> </p><p>“Who’d have thought someone like you would be creaming himself stupid as my personal doormat, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>And while she might not like being wasteful, the opportunity is just too good to pass up. She takes a wine bottle, opens it, and drains the contents on Rashan’s body.</p><p> </p><p>He convulses, her voice or actions probably not even getting to him as he flounders in front of her.</p><p> </p><p>Well, at least he strived to not bore her.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Caspara considered licking her cunt to be a <em> big </em>deal. A privilege only given to those who earned it.</p><p> </p><p>The tongue that sloppily runs up and down her slit does a good job at making her wet. Her cunt reacts sensitively at the man’s rough breathing, and the deliberately loud slurping that comes from him is like music to her ears. The man’s face being tinted bright red from the embarrassment makes it even better.</p><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, Rashan makes due by just as noisily licking her feet and occasionally sucking her toes. His long hair is tied in a tight knot to the foot of the chair, making him unable to be in any position that isn’t his hands and knees. He’s spent the last several days just begging to eat her out, but Caspara enjoys making him work for it while she grants the pleasure to less deserving men.</p><p> </p><p>She roughly shoves the man who licks her away and stands while patting her robes down, putting the foot Rashan was serving on top of his head in the process, and his forehead touches the floor. She can’t see it, but she knows he’s clenching his ass around the fig that’s currently inside him. A rehearsed spiel soon comes tumbling out of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Uuu… T-thank you for g-giving me the opportunity to… to s-serve you… Nothing w-would give this doormat g-greater pleasure... Than to… nhn… than to continue b-being your property…”</p><p> </p><p>Perfect. She makes a mental note to reward him for that later, but for now she sets her hands on her hips to beam with excitement at her guest that had watched the display with her—</p><p> </p><p>Ghorza the Despot.</p><p> </p><p>She gets goosebumps at the fact this massive orc warrior, her <em> idol, </em>is in the same tent at her! She made very sure to get everything furnished just right, racks of wine, jewels strewn across the place, maps hung up in just the right areas, incense… whatever she could think of to make it look as impressive as she hopes it is. The men being the wanton whores they were born to be hopefully helps her case, too.</p><p> </p><p>Ghorza tilts her head slightly, lips forming in a lopsided grin that makes Caspara’s heart to a somersault.</p><p> </p><p>“Imagine my surprise when we reach this place’s shores and I’m greeted with a sight I’m awfully familiar with.” The orc says jokingly, her eyes narrowing with a sadistic gaze as she looks over to Rashan.</p><p> </p><p>“All I had to do was follow your example and the men dropped like flies.” She titters on excitedly, lifting her foot and stepping it back onto Rashan’s head, “This doormat was the Merchant Lord. You can hide in his caravans, and get a free ticket into the capital unseen and unnoticed by following his trade routes. Everyone who was against us in this camel train has been subjugated, meaning the Emperor doesn’t suspect a thing.”</p><p> </p><p>That causes Ghorza to raise a brow.</p><p> </p><p>“Oho? And what’s in it for you?”</p><p> </p><p>Caspara spreads her arms wide, her voice laden with glee, “Everything! I get to be part of the glorious Despots! I get to do my part in ushering in the new world! There is nothing else I dream more of doing!”</p><p> </p><p>A bellowing laugh comes from Ghorza, her sharp, shark-like teeth peeking out from her lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Chief, we’ll discuss this over a grand feast. There are many delicacies I had prepared just for you, and the finest wines.”</p><p> </p><p>The orc nods once, making a gesture to some of her soldiers who filter out of the tent, and she juts her chin towards Rashan.</p><p> </p><p>“But before all that, I just gotta know, you gonna sell that doormat? A Merchant Lord with a body like that would fetch a pretty penny.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, I’m afraid I enjoy him too much for that. He was the first man I tamed, you see. I suppose you could say I’ve grown attached,” she smirks, “But you can have the other one. I haven’t even bothered to learn his name.”</p><p> </p><p>Ghorza responds with another chuckle, “Hah, I know what you mean. I ruled the elves first, and the two whores I got my hands on are still with me. Some even accuse me of being fond of them.”</p><p> </p><p>Stepping forward, Ghorza outstretches her massive hand. “Heard you humans like handshakes. What’s your name?”</p><p> </p><p>Her excitement spills over with a smile that reaches her ears as she replies, “Caspara el-Ashraf.”</p><p> </p><p>“Caspara,” Ghorza repeats, baring her teeth in a menacing smile, “I think you and I will get along just <em> fine.” </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Perched on a hill, Caspara lounges on a deep blue sofa as two nude men using ostrich fans to cool her off. She rests her feet on Rashan’s back, having been promoted from being a doormat to footstool. She gently swirls the sparkling wine in her hands, watching the spectacle before her.</p><p> </p><p>The capital of the Oslasletopia Empire is burning.</p><p> </p><p>The marble white structures are dwarfed by the smoke the billows out of them. Among the carnage are massive, brutish red flags with the images of boars signifying Ghorza’s army claim on the city. Even from where she relaxes, she can hear the orcs making good use of the men there. As soon as Ghorza is satisfied with their taming, she’ll leave this city with a commander she trusts, then march off to overtake the rest of the kingdoms on this continent.</p><p> </p><p>And Caspara will be joining her for that crusade, but meanwhile she will happily enjoy herself in a camp set up outside the city.</p><p> </p><p>Idly, she remembers Ghorza making a comment when she called Rashan a footstool, and the orc showed off her own elven slaves, on their hands and knees, collared and with nose hooks prying their noses upwards.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Heh, I’m partial to making them into little masochistic pigs myself.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It makes Caspara smile. She thinks about Rashan being a pig, in due time, or perhaps finding a new man to do that with. After all, there surely isn’t shortage of sex slaves she’ll be enjoying during this conquest. She definitely wants to have some fun with elves, or maybe with a Westerner. Or both! Not like she’s short of options, hah!</p><p> </p><p>She sips her wine, lips curling in a sadistic smile.</p><p> </p><p>The West has fallen.</p><p> </p><p>And now, it’s time for the East to follow in their footsteps.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you wanna read about Ghorza and her crew, you can do so here (also involves hardcore femdom and sexual slavery):<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642039<br/>and here:<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245566</p><p>Alternatively, if you wanna read something ~softer~ you can check out odilemoon's excellent series 'Secondhand Elf' which is set in the same universe!<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177209/chapters/63698356</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Blasphemy Never Tastes so Sweet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A paladin meets an incubus who's just... a little bit eager about something.</p><p>Includes: Bondage, whipping, pegging, pinching clothespins on someone's skin (is there a specific term for that?), sexual slavery (but the consensual type this time!), sadism/masochism.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Svetlana’s heart thumps in accordance with slow, shallow breaths. Serenity is plastered across her face as she sleeps on the thick and irresistibly soft mattress that’s like a billowing cloud. At rest, her consciousness swirls in the land of dreams, oblivious to the physical world. Her long dark hair spreads out around her head like a halo.</p><p> </p><p>In her rustic cabin that lies atop the grassy hills the crickets sing their songs in the cool night, and there is nothing but peace.</p><p> </p><p>Well, except for the long malevolent shadow that seems to move independently from anything physical. It swerves and appears to look around the furniture in the cabin, then swirling balls of mist come from the shadow itself. The mist soon begins to loom over Svetlana’s sleeping form. The swirls grow until they combine to make one and from them comes a male body— though it’s not human. The horns and tail is enough to tell anyone exactly what type of entity this sudden intruder is.</p><p> </p><p>An incubus.</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana is fully awake before he finishes physically manifesting. </p><p> </p><p>Years of training as a paladin has made her a light sleeper, constantly aware of her surroundings even when asleep and dreaming. Though, admittedly, it’s hard to stay asleep when the air smells like it’s putrefying. The stench of rotting flesh and death itself had alerted of his presence, her body twitching from beneath sheets as she readies herself for his imminent attack.</p><p> </p><p>The incubus stands over her, and though her green eyes are closed, she can tell he’s probably got a wicked grin scrawled on his features as he stares at her in delight. Honestly, she supposes she should feel flattered he’s chosen her of all people to target. That, or stupid. She <em> is </em>a paladin. Her entire life is dedicated to the purging of demons like him.</p><p> </p><p>Straining her ears, she can practically hear him lick his lips. His breathing is laboured and laced with giddiness. He’s like a panting dog waiting for its master to give it a treat. She’d find that vaguely amusing— and, begrudgingly, kind of arousing— if it weren’t for the fact that she thinks he’s looking for a fight.</p><p> </p><p>With a shaky, excited exhale on his part, Svetlana prepares herself.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, yes, you will— <em> Guughk!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Quickly deciding not to wait for this bellend to make the first strike, Svetlana suddenly gets off the bed with the swiftness of a striking snake. She throws the blanket on the incubus in the process, and propels herself forward to knee him solidly in the midsection. With the blanket now covering him, though his horns are peeking out, the incubus bends over but doesn’t fall, so she does the only logical thing to do next.</p><p> </p><p>She grabs a hold of his horns, which are like those of a bull, and violently pulls him forward so she can knee him directly in the face this time. There’s a sickening, yet satisfying, crunch his nose makes contact with her patella. This time, he does keel over, and Svetlana takes advantage of his current groveling to grab her sword that’s always placed on a table beside her bed when she sleeps. The handle of the sword is bound with black leather, the hilt decorated yet understated, and the blade is short. For all intents and purposes, it’s quite plain looking.</p><p> </p><p>But as she holds it Svetlana can feel its holy power. </p><p> </p><p>“In the name of Saint Rosilia,” She says, voice strong and steady, “I condemn your very existence. It is a blight that must be purged, so that you may never harm another in your wicked ways.” Despite the harshness in her practiced incantation, she doesn’t raise her blade over his head to strike. As a paladin, she’s been taught restraint and mercy… Even though all those chants talk of purging and holy retribution…</p><p> </p><p>Whatever. She’s stopped questioning that tidbit years ago.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of silence as she squints at the demon’s huddled form. Her body is tensed, ready to <em> actually </em>end this infidel’s life if need be. Though, admittedly, she’s curious about what he’ll do next so much so that it keeps her from skewering him more so than her teachings do.</p><p> </p><p>Then—</p><p> </p><p>“Nngh… uuu…”</p><p> </p><p>It’s… a whine, one that’s twinged in pain which is what she expected but also… there’s something else.</p><p> </p><p>Cautiously, she inches forward, using her free hand to take the blanket off the demon’s quivering form. And— <em> fuck. </em>She expected this, she already knows incubi are devilishly handsome but her throat goes dry when she finally gets a good look at his face.</p><p> </p><p>Incubi all appear differently to different people— they take the traits of whatever a person finds the most attractive. If they really wanted to, they could even shed their horns and tails to fully transform into a normal looking human being. In Svetlana’s case, a luscious ache of desire already begins to engulf her entire body because this bloody demon is just <em> so </em>fucking handsome.</p><p> </p><p>He’s got dark brown coiffed hair, the barest hint of stubble, and a sharp jawline with a perfectly symmetrical face. His eyes are a mesmerising deep ocean blue, flecks of silvery light performing ballets throughout. The rest of his body is as strong and defined as his face, slim and muscular. His lips look sharp and captivating and <em> absolutely </em>something she wants to bite.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, and he’s completely naked.</p><p> </p><p>Cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, lips wet with his drool and dripping blood from his nose, and he’s already sweating like he’s been given a thorough fucking into the mattress. His toned shoulders are square, strong and burly like a farm boy. He’s tanned like one, too.</p><p> </p><p>A prickle runs down her neck that turns into a full body shiver. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>This— This is exactly what an incubus wants!! They seduce! That’s their shtick! Then they corrupt you with their provocative wiles!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Get it together Svetlana! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His eyes appear glazed over from sweet, sweet pleasure. He rubs some of the blood with his hands, looking at it in awe before a wide, lewd smile etches its way onto his lips. A breathless whimper hisses from his throat and Svetlana’s eye twitches. She can feel her own brow dampening from perspiration at this point. It’s beginning to feel <em> real </em> hot <em> real </em>quick.</p><p> </p><p>“Aaaahh…. Aahahahaaa…” He pants like an exhausted slut, “I knew you were <em> the </em> one!”</p><p> </p><p>That brings her slightly back to reality, and she tightens her grip on her sword. “...What do you mean, demon?” She ignores how dry her throat has become.</p><p> </p><p>The smile doesn’t leave his face, and he stays on his knees in front of her as his eyes practically twinkle with excitement.</p><p> </p><p>“A sadist! I’ve been looking everywhere for someone who could give me a good beating!”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana opens her mouth, then promptly closes it. Blinking in quick succession, she finds herself unable to formulate a response. Or to even think logically. <em> Beating, </em>huh. The blood trickling from his nose and the obvious pain she had caused him mere moments makes her press her thighs together. </p><p> </p><p>At the lack of her answer, the demon wiggles in his spot, as if inviting her to indulge in his nude body.</p><p> </p><p>“You enjoy purging the heretics, hmm? I could use <em> lots </em>of purging.”</p><p> </p><p>This… This incubus must be new to this, surely… They don’t usually approach someone so brazenly like this, they’re usually more subtle in their seductions before lulling someone into a false sense of security and then stealing their life force.</p><p> </p><p>She narrows her eyes suspiciously, but before she can say anything, he continues.</p><p> </p><p>“I can smell it, you know. Your desires as a sadist… It’s your pheromones!”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds like bullshit,” she blurts out, fanning herself as she feels sweat uncomfortably stick to her shirt. Then she whispers to herself, bewildered, “...But I don’t know enough about incubi to dispute that…” </p><p> </p><p>Can they smell that sort of thing to a person? What does sadism even smell like? Huh. She’ll need to bring that up to a high-priestess.</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana doesn’t take her questioning gaze off of him, and her growing curiosity causes her to ask, “...If you can smell the… sadist in someone, why not just go to a drow?”</p><p> </p><p>His body shivers noticeably, and he heaves a dreamy sigh that is currently <em> very </em>distracting.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but I did! Aaah… the drow, they beat their men so wonderfully! But alas, they do not trust anyone and suspected I was up to something, so they killed me.” He waves his hand casually as if he didn’t just tell her something fucking ridiculous, “It was an exquisite execution but I’m afraid that’s not the sort of pain I’d like to experience very often. My succubi sisters were kind enough to resurrect me, you see. So once that was done I commenced my search to find the perfect sadist to give me the perfect balance of pleasure and…” </p><p> </p><p>He cups his cheeks with both hands, sighing again though it sounds more like a high-pitched squeal.</p><p> </p><p>“Pain! <em> Ahn!” </em></p><p> </p><p>He might as well have came then and there if that noise was anything to go by. He seems to reel himself in, face becoming serious for a moment. “But I’m fully alive! You do not have to worry about necrophilia! And that’s the reason for the smell— I haven’t washed myself since being resurrected, and I was planning to, but you just smelled so <em> divine! </em>I couldn’t help myself, I knew I had to get you to beat me.”</p><p> </p><p>Mind still a surging perplexity, Svetlana can only respond with a confused “...I see.” Then her brain catches up with her, and she scrunches her face together. “And you think I can give that to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think—” Well, that much was obvious, “—I <em> know </em>you can give it to me and then some! Like I said, I can smell it!”</p><p> </p><p>At that moment, he stands, and Svetlana curses herself fiercely for being so distracted. She takes a step back, but the demon grabs her hands, though whatever counterattack she thinks he’s planning never happens. Instead he brings his face close to hers, eyes gleaming and cheeks blushing deeply.</p><p> </p><p>“My name is Talran, and I’m not leaving until you give me a good beating!”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana splutters out a gurgle of noises, overwhelmed yet also overtaken with the desire to punch him.</p><p> </p><p>Talran grins widely, though his eyes have a hint of desperation to them. He’s <em> begging. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Please, make me your sex slave!”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Have you heard? There’s been reports of this odd incubus lately… Apparently he makes demands that you hit him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that what we train to do anyway? Hit them? Certainly makes our jobs easier if he’s just gonna serve himself on a silver platter. Though perhaps this fiend was merely making a mockery of us.”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana overhears her fellow paladins as she pretends to sharpen her sword. She strains her ears to eavesdrop as much as she can. So, she was not the first paladin he’s propositioned which makes her feel a little… <em> miffed, </em> almost? She knows that’s absurd but a deep dark part of her wanted her to be <em> the </em>special sadist, like someone who incubi come together to speak about because she’s some type of legend.</p><p> </p><p>One of the paladins, Avandeyeva, nods at Svetlana with a grin.</p><p> </p><p>“How about you? You get a nightly visit from an incubus?”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana’s lips twitch but she suppresses her smile. She briefly wonders what would happen if she told them she currently has an incubus who… <em> occupies </em>in her home, but at the same time, while they can joke about a demon making odd demands they’re still paladins of a the Church— if she told them, they’d both make their way to her cabin and slay the idiot.</p><p> </p><p>So she keeps it to herself. She can deal with him herself. She ignores the very… interesting thoughts she’s currently having about Talran.</p><p> </p><p>“...No, can’t say I have been visited.” She quirks a brow, “Would you give him what he wants?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, purge an incubus and get rewarded by the Knight-Captain herself? I would be a fool not to.”</p><p> </p><p>Ah, well, there’s that, too. Incubi and succubi <em> are </em>notoriously difficult to kill— and it’s harder to make them stay dead, what with their resurrection shenanigans— and some say they are born again simply because of humanity’s never ending desire to indulge in sinful pleasures of the flesh. A paladin’s work will never be done because they will never be free of the nefarious clutches of those demons.</p><p> </p><p>...And whenever a paladin is successful in vanquishing such a foe, they are required to isolate themselves for at least a week to repent and ask forgiveness from the Saints. Being in the mere presence of such a demon will never <em> not </em>awaken certain… impure thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Kind of like the thoughts Svetlana is currently battling with.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sex slave. Slave of sex. A sexy slave. A slave who has sex. Sex. Slave. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Avandeyeva’s face invades her field of vision.</p><p> </p><p>“You alright? You’re looking a little feverish. I suppose it has gotten pretty cold lately.”</p><p> </p><p>Even under the layers of fur and armour she feels as though she’s going to melt into a puddle. Her pale alabaster skin most certainly does not do a good job at hiding the warmth that blooms across her face. Svetlana pulls at her collar as subtly as she’s able, damn incubus and his damn innate incubus talent of making people hot and bothered at the thought of him. Perhaps that is why she says what she does.</p><p> </p><p>“I must confess… I have been having… thoughts, recently.”</p><p> </p><p>Her fellow paladin narrows her eyes, both in a look of concern and also in scrutiny. Dammit, maybe admitting that wasn’t the brightest idea, because Avandeyeva’s got that whole pious holier-than-thou expression scrawled on her face that’s expected of a paladin when <em> that </em>gets brought up.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps you must return home and repent,” Avandeyeva says a matter of factly, “Such impurities will affect your ability to spread Saint Rosilia’s teachings, but you’re already aware of that.”</p><p> </p><p>Goddammit, now she feels like she’s being scolded by someone who isn’t even older than her.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a comforting hand on her shoulder, but instead Svetlana feels an onset of irritation bubble within her.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what you must do, don’t you?” Avandeyeva’s eyes tell her that she’s expecting something.</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana sighs. “A paladin must serve the Saints with a pure heart, fervently. For a paladin to be successful, they must first look to be holy. For holy purity is alway a breastplate against distemper, discord, bitterness and corruption.” She recites the main tenet of her teachings in a dispirited fashion, though it doesn’t stop in Avandeyeva’s lips breaking into a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Right you are, comrade! Now, go home and rest. I’ll let the Knight-Captain know that you are currently repenting.”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana responds with a curt nod, uttering a soft word of thanks and then promptly leaving.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not quite sure what she was hoping to achieve by saying that, and she has only herself to blame for essentially being reprimanded by a peer. She’s been in service of the Church for years. She should have known it would have turned out like this, predictable like clockwork. Holiness is a very slippery slope and everyone here likes to make sure to remind each other of that. She’s done her share of telling people to repent, as well.</p><p> </p><p>And yet it doesn’t stop her annoyance from growing.</p><p> </p><p>No one likes being talked to like that, obviously, least of all her. But there’s something else intermingled with the feelings.</p><p> </p><p>...Triumph. Or something similar to it. Because now she gets to stay home for a week, with an incubus. A part of her says this is the prime opportunity for her to hone her skills— use this fiend to make her mind stronger and impervious to salacious daydreams. Use this as a training exercise to honour the Saints.</p><p> </p><p>Another part of her laughs at such an idea.</p><p> </p><p>Her sinful desires do not abate as she walks home. They only increase.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Talran’s body twitches when she walks past him. She watches him like a hawk does it’s prey, and the current display is so pathetic she can’t quite help but grin wolfishly. An incubus laying on her bedroom floor, body still beautiful even while sweating; his skin becomes more like polished stone. Each breath he takes is laboured, and shows off his pristine abs.</p><p> </p><p>“Aha… haa… i-is this… neglect play?” He whines, body writhing which in turn makes a show of more of his muscular body the more he moves around like a floundering fish. His eyes are glazed, expression and voice speaking of nothing but wanton pleasure. “T-To leave me… bound by the wrist and ankles… aha… w-while trapped in a sigil! Ah!”</p><p> </p><p>The holy sigil in question glows with a purple light, pulsating every now and then in tandem with his writhing. Sometimes his horns hit the wooden floor with a thud. Even if he wanted to escape— which he obviously doesn’t by this point— he wouldn’t be able to. This particular sigil is blessed by the Saints, imbued with properties that demons are weak to.</p><p> </p><p>Or so other paladins tell her, anyway. Judging by his drooling and breathing, he certainly seems to be enjoying it.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmgh! Agh! It <em> burns!” </em>Talran wails with a wide, lewd smile and an arched back. His eyes roll back, and…</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana does not look at his cock. She does <em> not— </em></p><p> </p><p>She looks at his cock.</p><p> </p><p>It’s slightly curved and fully erect. It’s exactly the size and girth she likes, but well, he <em> is </em>an incubus. She’d be surprised if he weren’t. Even his balls manage to look enticing, hanging heavy between his legs. His cock pounces when he arches his back again with another whine and she bites her lower lip.</p><p> </p><p>May the Saints have mercy on her sinful, sinful soul.</p><p> </p><p>A war rages in her. <em> You should purge this idiot, </em> she thinks to himself, <em> you could get promoted if you kill an incubus. </em></p><p> </p><p>Her thoughts tell her one thing, but her body moves on its own. She saunters to a corner, moving aside a desk and pulling the carpet off, revealing a trapdoor. Opening it, her eyes narrow, and she exhales a long breath as desire tightly coils itself within her.</p><p> </p><p>A variety of… instruments lie before her. Items she long since hidden away since she joined the Church. Something she told herself to never again bother with, despite the fact she could never bring herself to outright get rid of them. They’re not <em> pure, </em> they’re tools of <em> sin. </em></p><p> </p><p>Talran was right.</p><p> </p><p>She was a sadist—</p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>She <em> is </em>a sadist.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand caresses the handle of a black bullwhip like she’s seeing an old friend. Her eyes lovingly gaze at a wooden paddle she dearly missed. A smirk spreads across her features when she reminisces over the many, many pins, needles and knives that are stored here. And that’s not even half of things just lying beneath her floorboards, all items she procured in secret establishments and blackmarkets. </p><p> </p><p>It’s everything she’s used. <em> A lot. </em>On the many, many men who were privileged enough to be her bedmate over the years. </p><p> </p><p>But the ache of lustful inclination is something she attempted to temper when she became a paladin. It’s so thoroughly unholy, and she <em> did </em>make a vow of chastity when she joined, as did everyone else. Being a paladin… it provides one with opportunities they otherwise would never have access to. She was a lowly fisher, doomed to work tirelessly every day of her life until her death with little to no thanks.</p><p> </p><p>But a <em> paladin? </em>Not only do the townspeople look at them with awe, they fucking get to retire with comfortable savings. Only a recognized few get accepted to their ranks and Svetlana dominated their ranks when training.</p><p> </p><p>A shame she had to give up dominating something <em> else </em>when she joined.</p><p> </p><p>It’s unholy. Impure. Dirty. Corruption— she’d figured she’d give one lifestyle for another, mainly because she wanted to lead an easy life with easy earnings. The security was worth it to become pious…</p><p> </p><p>And it was fucking boring.</p><p> </p><p>Repenting can only go so far, she surmises, the sadistic urges that linger and fester will never truly go away. It’s simply a part of who she is.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And… besides… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She turns to Talran, who stares at with wide eyes— both with arousal and <em> fear, </em>which just makes her loins tingle with delight, something she hasn’t felt in far too long. Whip in hand, she swings it at nothing, and with the sound of air being cut Talran gasps sharply. She sees goosebumps form on his skin, and his nipples harden.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s not really blasphemy if I beat an incubus and enjoy it, is it? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>This is for the greater good. With Talran as a <em> delicious </em>slave… that means one less incubus causing a ruckus for everyone else… Yes. She’s still doing what a paladin must. This is just fine. Divine fate, even. This is an opportunity she’ll grab onto with avidity because it’s quite frankly too good to be true and she doesn’t want this chance to slip through her fingers.</p><p> </p><p>And she’s… always wanted a slave… that’s a totally normal thing to desire, right? <em> Right?! </em></p><p> </p><p>She walks towards Talran, relishing in how he tenses, no doubt expecting a hit. He begs for it with his eyes, but instead she puts her foot on the sigil and swipes the material away— effectively shutting off the magical power and releasing him from its burning grasp.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re lucky you’ve apparently got such a good sense of smell, demon.”</p><p> </p><p>He wiggles his body, bound hands quivering with anticipation. His thin black tail flicks up and down, and she briefly wonders if she’s going to do anything with its pointed end. Whatever, that’s not important right now, especially when she’s got a whore she needs to get busy with. But first things first.</p><p> </p><p>“What’re your limits?” She asks, smirking at herself from the authoritative tone she uses. Oh yeah, she’s still got it.</p><p> </p><p>Not that she expects to get much of an answer out of him. She mostly asked him out of habit. And, well, she’d like to think of herself as just a little bit courteous when she’s going to fuck someone.</p><p> </p><p>His tongue darts from between his teeth, and her mind is engulfed with the image of sticking a needle into that fleshy, muscular organ. Maybe even give him a piercing just because she can. The thought causes her to lick her lips as her hunger to devour this little vermin grows.</p><p> </p><p>“Aha,” he breathes out, face a blazing red, “I’m an incubus. I can take anything. I implore you to give me your worst.”</p><p> </p><p>Her smirk widens. She intends to do just that.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Turns out, Svetlana had retained her knowledge when it comes to tying someone up in a very specific manner. She appraises her work with a thoughtful glance. She’d give herself maybe… an eight out of ten for this one. Maybe a seven. It’s not particularly creative.</p><p> </p><p>Talran is hogtied and suspended mid-air, a deep red rope criss-crossing his toned body. He swings back and forth as he continues to squirm in palpable excitement. He’s got a lascivious grin plastered on his face from being displayed in such an uncouth manner, and despite being an incubus he has an excessive blush that extends to his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>He has the temerity to laugh, though it’s borderline delirious— drunk off euphoria.</p><p> </p><p>“Hehe… to think my first act as your slave would be to endure a punishment…! And to be suspended like this, it’s new to me… ahahaaa… what prurient pleasure will you bestow to this lowly—”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Crack! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana’s bullwhip lashes down Talran and interrupts his words midway. </p><p> </p><p>“Hii—gyaah?!”</p><p> </p><p>A red welt rises up on his skin, and his face contorts while a loud moan escapes his lips. He shakes due the heavy lash she just bestowed him and his suspended body begins swaying with more fervour. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, he’s a filthy incubus already in the throes of pleasure so his debauched smile doesn’t leave him. In fact, he’s already drooling from the single hit.</p><p> </p><p>She can’t really stop herself from grinning, either. A flame is stoked inside of her, and she feels the embers to grow, and grow, and <em> grow. </em> It’s only a matter of time before she’s engulfed with a heat that will consume her. The carnal gratification of beating a man— a <em> demon— </em>is becoming awakened after being left dormant for years.</p><p> </p><p>She’s going to thoroughly take what she can from this wench.</p><p> </p><p>“You talk far too much for a slave.” She taunts, not bothering to mask the joy leaking from her voice.</p><p> </p><p>“K-Kuh… such a vulgar hobby… to take such pleasure from hurting a poor d-defenseless man… hehe…”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana raises a brow at that. He’s still got the look of a degenerate whore, though there’s something else now. A spark in his eyes, and she’s got enough experience with brats to know what this entails now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oho, the slave wants to roleplay now? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Well, she is a big, scary paladin. Might as well act the part.</p><p> </p><p>And it’s time for some repenting and purging of some awfully sinful desires.</p><p> </p><p>She gently caresses two fingers on his cheek, her voice becoming a sneer. “You have such a beautiful face. How about I break it and make it sopping wet with tears? I think that would arouse the Saints greatly!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Crack! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Another lash with all her strength causes another red welt to form on his skin. </p><p> </p><p>“Uuuhn… Ngh, y-you… you are… despicable…!”</p><p> </p><p>He’s not really good at this little roleplaying, clearly, since he’s still beaming with a grin and his voice twinges with laughter. Honestly, it kind of makes her want to hit him harder.</p><p> </p><p>So she does, with three strikes in quick succession— hitting his thigh, his bicep, and abdomen.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuhgh! Ngh! Ahn!”</p><p> </p><p>The lashing sounds of the whip and Talran’s agonized and delighted moans mingle together. More beads of sweat trickle down his already glistening skin, as even more welt assail his writhing body. His face distorts in pain, and at one point he bites down on a lip to muffle a series of giggling when Svetlana gives him an underhanded strike that hits him dangerously close to his cock.</p><p> </p><p>She begins breathing wildly, her own arousal growing— much quicker than she’s used to, probably because she hasn’t done this in ages, and her body and mind aches for a lust she had missed during the time of being a stuffy, boring paladin.</p><p> </p><p>Every time she hits him with the whip, her cunt clenches.</p><p> </p><p>The contusions that come from every strike matches the redness of the rope that bites into his skin. Every time he wiggles and squirms he loosely sways back and forth, and she knows he’s doing this on purpose so that he can feel an even more intense ropeburn.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps if you repent, I’ll let you go!” She roars, “Submit yourself to the purity of the Saints!”</p><p> </p><p>“Kuuh..!” </p><p> </p><p>Five more brutal lashes apparently leaves him breathless. Evidently, his blush extends to his cock now, too—it’s red, and so very, <em> very </em>hard. Veiny too.</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana will concern herself with that part of him later, but for now, it’s time to introduce something new. And this wasn’t even in her little trapdoor of treasures, rather this was something she found in her kitchen and she just <em> knew </em>she had to use it eventually.</p><p> </p><p>She strolls behind him, spreading his muscled legs and asscheeks as much as she’s able considering his current position. Her poking and prodding doesn’t stop his Talran, rather it encourages him, and he squeals happily.</p><p> </p><p>“Wh—What is that? Aha… what are you planning to do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Something unpleasant. Only dirty sinners get this treatment. Now, I’ve just gotta find… ah, there it is.”</p><p> </p><p>Do demons need lube? Well, she supposes she’s about to find out, since she just unceremoniously shoves the thing inside his quivering ass. The moment she applies the slightest pressure it slips in without much resistance. </p><p> </p><p>“I— Ugghii!! Nnggh! H-H-Holy shit… f-fucking hell! Fuck! It burns!” He wails, his thrashing becoming the most violent it ever been as his sphincter is no doubt assaulted by a sharp pain. Svetlana absentmindedly grabs onto his tail when it nearly hits her, and she twists it around her hand for good measure. The action makes his pathetic writhing all the more comical, and she feels a slick of arousal drip out of her.</p><p> </p><p>“I k-know this!” Talran exclaims happily, and she watches his ass clench around the item buried halfway in him. “It’s g-ginger! Aha—ggnnh...!” He throws his head back and raises his voice as he splutters out a series of incomprehensible moans.</p><p> </p><p>Of course the debased incubus has had ginger up the ass before.</p><p> </p><p>And either the lack of lube delights his little masochistic heart or demons are just more capable of dealing with that sort of thing, either way, he’s fine. The oils of the ginger does its work and produces a slight burning sensation in his ass, no doubt making his blood flow at a faster pace— going straight to his weeping cock.</p><p> </p><p>She grabs the ginger and crams it even further inside of him, twisting it, and the resounding scream being music to her ears.</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana laughs darkly and at the same time she feels a luscious throbbing across her whole body. She lets go of his tail and walks back in front of him, and while his expression is a blissful one, there’s no tears yet.</p><p> </p><p>Talran seems to remember about his half-baked roleplay at that moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Agah…” His lips have become thoroughly wet with his drool, and he was sweating profusely, but his voice has no exhaustion to it, only eagerness. “S-Such torture… will never… ugnh…” He scrunches his face together, “Uughu, forget about that, just h-hit me again!”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmph! Well, any whore still needs to repent! And I’ve decided your shitty acting needs a punishment, too!” Without waiting to see his reaction, she raises her arm and brings it down quickly and harshly.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Crack! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The dry sound of his skin being lashed and beginning to tear echoes throughout the room. A fresh, painful looking welt rises his quickly reddening body. Every time the whip strikes him, Talran fills the air with a chorus of his sounds of ecstasy.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, Ngghaah! Aahn!”</p><p> </p><p>As the ferocity of Svetlana’s hits steadily and relentlessly increases, so does the intensity of the thrashing sounds of the whip. She feels a slight burning tingle from the palm of her hand due to the force in which she grips the handle of the weapon and how violently she swings it. The feeling doesn’t stop her and she continues her assault.</p><p> </p><p>A wicked thought crosses her mind, and this time when she does an underhanded strike she does not miss his cock.</p><p> </p><p>The resulting gasp that turns into a shriek will forever be embedded in her memory. </p><p> </p><p>“Aaghahh?! Ho—Holy fucking s-shit!”</p><p> </p><p>Talran desperately cries out in a voice mingled with agony and ecstasy while beginning to shed those tears Svetlana had been looking for. He recoils his body, apparently clenching his ass tightly enough that the fucking ginger pops out and falls on the ground shortly after. She barks out a surprised laugh, though she <em> still </em>does not stop her whipping, causing his entire body to tremble in the resulting onslaught of pain.</p><p> </p><p>He lets loose bestial howls every time the whip lashes at him, with his tears and mucous streaming down his sopping wet face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Crack! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The whip forms a wave and when it hits his face his body convulses as he fires off the loudest scream yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Aaaaghh! I’m— I’m—!!”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana watches his cock release his semen in quick spurts, the cum hitting the floor with a resounding splat. Talran’s laboured breathing becomes choked and wet and so deliciously pathetic. He loses the strength and his body gradually stops swaying in the air as he stops moving, though he does twitch intermittently from the resulting aftershocks.</p><p> </p><p>She brings a hand to her mouth to stifle a raucous laugh coming from her a wide, sneering smile. Her body throbs and <em> aches— </em>she still needs her own release. She may not have much personal experience with incubi, but she knows they have no refractory period. Really, he would be a pretty shitty sex demon if he did have one.</p><p> </p><p>It would be far too disappointing to end things here already. Both for her, and for him.</p><p> </p><p>Because she knows the whore wants more.</p><p> </p><p>And that’s exactly what she’s going to give him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Mmph! Mmph! Mmhhhph!”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana sighs contentedly, now nude and lying comfortably on her back against a heap of blankets and pillows. Now, if only she had something to eat, because then she’d be having dinner <em> and </em>a show. But she’ll just have to make due with a show, for now.</p><p> </p><p>She’s freed Talran from the ropes— though there’s two lengths of rope tied to his horns, but she’ll be using that later— and the slightly dark markings from his bondage goes quite nicely with the red welts from the whipping treatment she gave him earlier, if she does says so herself. She’s given him new toys now: a ball gag and a blindfold. He does not hold back his excited moaning despite the gag as he bounces his body above her.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmph!”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, and she’s wearing a fake cock that Talran’s currently fucking himself with. This time with lube, something she added because she’s such a <em> saint. </em></p><p> </p><p>The pain from his prior whipping and the… <em> generous </em>size of the toy slipping in and out of his asshole keeps his body in a state of constant trembling. She can feel his body shake since his hands grope her breasts sloppily, and she idly wonders if the rim of his asshole still burns slightly due to the ginger.</p><p> </p><p>“Nngh… Mmhph...!”</p><p> </p><p>She cleaned his face before having him ride her, but the area around his mouth becomes smeared with his drool anyway as his face collapses into a slovenly mess. It comes out of his mouth uncouthly as he continues to exhale disorderly breaths from his flaring nostrils. There’s still tears that manage to peak out from his blindfold, a sight that makes Svetlana’s cunt more wet.</p><p> </p><p>He gyrates his hips, impaling himself on the toy as if his life depends on it. Obscene slapping noises are created each time his hips hit hers, and his movements continually nudge the toy, which in turn then rubs against Svetlana’s throbbing clit. </p><p> </p><p>“Heh, you can use your asshole to service me well, can’t you? Making the Saints proud with your repentance!”</p><p> </p><p>While it’s mostly Talran doing this work this time, she enjoys thrusting her hips every now and then just to keep him on edge. A particularly hard thrust leaves the incubus squealing, the force almost making him fall over her. He thrashes his body furiously on being assaulted by a feeling of intense violation as the toy is buried into his depths to its base, and when Svetlana pulls her hips back down to a lying position it slips out of him completely. His body twitches and she brings her hand forward to slap him on a welt.</p><p> </p><p>“Get to fucking yourself again!”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmph!” He nods his head vigorously, body spasming from the sharp pain from her slap, an action making her chuckle. At least he doesn’t lack enthusiasm.</p><p> </p><p>He reaches behind himself to grab a hold of the toy and it slips back inside of him with ease, and he continues the circling of his hips to give himself a proper fucking. The energy of which he fucks himself is commendable in its own way, and Svetlana can see his pride as a whore shining through. If she were to be generous, she’d call his eagerness <em> cute. </em></p><p> </p><p>His hard again cock bounces with his energetic motions, and when she feels his precum beginning to drip onto her stomach, she decides it's time to introduce something new.</p><p> </p><p>Beside her, a row of clothespins all connected with a thin rope.</p><p> </p><p>She makes her tone authoritative, “Slow down and present your chest to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Talran stills his movements, the toy still buried inside of him, and he pushes his chest forward. His obedience makes Svetlana think of a dog eagerly expecting a treat and she smirks. She begins clamping the clothespins on his chest, and does so deliberately slowly to prolong the torture. Every now and then she’ll grab one and twist it, relishing in his squirming and whines.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmggnh!”</p><p> </p><p>“Now, use that tail of yours if you know what’s good for you.”</p><p> </p><p>He seems to understand instinctively, and soon she feels something slithering against the strap-on and prodding at her slit. The wetness that had developed from the sheer enjoyment she’s been having allows Talran’s tail to enter her cunt without much discomfort. Svetlana indulges in the rapturous sensation by clenching down on him.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly finding a rhythm, he pumps his tail in and out of her cunt, and returns to bouncing on the dildo. She shivers as the stiffness of his appendage deep inside of her. It fits comfortably, and the warmth is a welcome surprise. She settles with resting her hands behind her back and licking her lips while an incubus fucks himself on top of her, though not before tugging at the rope connected to the row of clothespin, an action that makes the filthy harlot throw his head back in glee.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, this was definitely <em> the </em> life. The mere thought of her being stripped of her paladin status and excommunicated if anyone found out what they were doing somehow makes everything all the more arousing, and her nerves tingle with a pleasure that assaults every inch of her body.</p><p> </p><p>Talran’s cock continues to leak precum on her stomach, and soon his drool and tears fall from his face and onto her supple chest. The seven or so clothespin biting at his chest shakes every time he lifts himself up to reach the tip of the toy only to push down to reach its base. He knits his brows tightly together, like both in concentration and in pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to cum again?” Svetlana lets out a sadistic voice while teasing him with another thrust of her hips, causing his tail to spasm inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>The ball gag makes his voice a spluttering, incomprehensible series of moaning.</p><p> </p><p>As much as she likes those slutty noises, she decides she wants to hear him properly now.</p><p> </p><p>“Take the gag off,” she commands, her breath hitching for a moment when his tail hit a particularly sensitive spot. She responds with yet another swing of her hips, causing Talran to fumble around stupidly as he attempts to take the gag off.</p><p> </p><p>When he manages to take it off, his voice is hoarse, but not lacking in excitement whatsoever. His words are slurred, clearly drunk off pleasure and partially delirious.</p><p> </p><p>“Agahaha… Dis… Dis is the besht!”</p><p> </p><p>His tail hooks upwards inside of her cunt and she feels her muscles tense from the delightful sensation. She clenches her teeth together, feeling her own release quickly coming, and she knows what will bring her over the edge.</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana harshly grabs the rope with the pins, and just as brutally she pulls her arm back, causing the clothespins to all be ripped off of him. The resulting agony makes Talran let out a terrific scream which sends a wave of bliss to wash over her. It feels like an electric current goes straight into her cunt, and an explosion starting deep within her belly that passes down to her clit, and the intensity increases with every breath she takes. </p><p> </p><p>She arches her back, surprising herself at the intensity of the orgasm that she feels— though when she regains some clarity she assumes it’s because it’s been some time since she’s indulged in something she so thoroughly enjoyed.</p><p> </p><p>A hot, tingly sensation does not leave her when she has her full release, and she feels a reverb bouncing in her clit, as well as Talran’s tail exiting her.</p><p> </p><p>Wiping her face, she sees Talran’s sporting a wide smile that borders on being goofy, and while his eyes are still covered with the blindfold she can practically feel the haughty pride emanating from him.</p><p> </p><p>His cock is still hard and leaking, and he <em> does </em>still have the ropes dangling from his horns. </p><p> </p><p>She’s not done yet.</p><p> </p><p>Reaching forward, she unceremoniously shoves him at his shoulders and pushes him off of her. For good measure, she slaps his welt covered thigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Ahn! Y-You…” he swallows thickly, his words no longer slurred, “You… r-really know how to treat a man w-well...”</p><p> </p><p>Talran’s soft trembling voice really does sound cute, a stark contrast to his bruised, tired and reddened body. </p><p> </p><p>“Turn around. On your hands and knees.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes widen, and so does his smile. “D-Doggystyle…! My favourite!”</p><p> </p><p>That causes Svetlana to snort.</p><p> </p><p>He gets into the position quickly, inviting her by wiggling his ass. His hole, having not recovered from the treatment mere minutes ago, quivers in front of her. She grabs a hold of one of his asscheeks and gropes him. Talran responds with a noise of delight, which in turn makes her raise her arm back and give his firm backside a good smack.</p><p> </p><p>“Mm! Y-Yes, hit me harder!”</p><p> </p><p>She obliges, grinning wolfishly when her second hit is punctuated by her shoving the toy back in his asshole.</p><p> </p><p>“Aggngh!” He squeals, and before she begins her thrusting in earnest to pick up the discarded clothespins and pinches some of them onto his side, making him fidget disgracefully. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, go ahead and sing your praises for the Saints,” Svetlana says with a mocking jeer in her voice, hitting his ass again and adding more pins to his abused skin. </p><p> </p><p>Then she begins moving her hips with reckless abandon, the toy rubbing against her numbing clit in a feeling she can only describe as heavenly.</p><p> </p><p>Talran begins to mumble something incoherent from his slackened lips, with drool trickling down his loose tongue which is dangling out from his gaping mouth. Svetlana gouges his anus with the toy, reaching the base with one smooth thrust. He begins writhing his entire body intensely, leaning forward so he’s face down and ass up. He rubs his face against the floor as his hands uselessly scratch at the floorboards.</p><p> </p><p>Every time she slams her cock inside of him the almost transparent lube gushes out of his hole with obscene sputtering sounds. She thrusts her entire body weight against him, swinging her hips with all of her strength. Even with orgasming, Svetlana still has the energy to give this lowly whore the fucking he so desperately begs for.</p><p> </p><p>“Ooghn… Nnh! Aahn!”</p><p> </p><p>The little slut’s intense screams echoes throughout the room as he grovels on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“M-My—! My ass is… is going to b-break!” He wails, his voice tapering off into a gleeful laugh at the end.</p><p> </p><p>She can see him clenching his sphincter muscles every time she pulls the toy partially out of him. While not stopping her near murderous momentum, Svetlana quickly reaches forward to grab a hold of the rope attached to his horns and pulls back.</p><p> </p><p>Talran’s head is snapped back with a jerk, and she bursts out in laughter as continues to fuck him will holding onto the rope like the reigns of a horse.</p><p> </p><p>Now moving his ass to meet her thrusting, his pleasure laden voice gushes out as he raises a tremendous cry.</p><p> </p><p>“S-So good, ugnh! Agh! Sogoodsogoodsogood—!!”</p><p> </p><p>Her unrelenting fucking finally pushes Talran to experience his second orgasm.</p><p> </p><p>With an extra pull on the ropes, she forces him to get full on his knees, so that his back is against her chest. She puts one of her strong arms around his neck and peeks over his shoulder, watching his swollen cock pump out his semen in quick succession. His entire body trembles, and she takes special note of his glazed eyes and saliva covered lips. It’s a good expression, she idly thinks.</p><p> </p><p>She feels her own body shiver alongside his.</p><p> </p><p>No sooner does he finish cumming does she begin to feel a sudden onset of exhaustion— a drowsiness that makes her eyelids begin to feel heavy. She clenches her teeth, knowing what’s happening. Talran is soaking in her energy— or whatever the fuck they call it. Either way, this is a thing incubi and succubi do, stealing people’s life force.</p><p> </p><p>She lays down, momentarily fighting it, and the last thing she sees before losing consciousness is the demon’s smiling face.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Svetlana awakes with a start. She blinks in quick succession, smelling the pleasant aroma of something lemon scented. When she sits up, she realizes she’s been placed in the bed and tucked in.</p><p> </p><p>To her surprise, Talran enters the room with a tray of tea and pastries, wearing nothing but an apron.</p><p> </p><p>She knits her brows together, and he smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“Master—”</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck you still doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>He nearly drops the tray from that, but then he pouts.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m your slave, <em> duh. </em>I made you some tea and cakes. There wasn’t much in your kitchen, though. And it’s a bit of a pigsty, but I cleaned it.”</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana opens her mouth, then promptly closes it. Damn, the cakes do smell great and are currently very distracting— though not as distracting as <em> the fucking incubus who’s just wearing an apron standing in front of her!! </em></p><p> </p><p>“You took my life force. You got what you wanted, so why…?”</p><p> </p><p>He places the tray on a nearby desk, hands now on his hips.</p><p> </p><p>“Slave. Do I need to spell it out for you?”</p><p> </p><p>“You were… serious…?” </p><p> </p><p>He rolls his eyes. “Yes! I’m here, aren’t I?” He smirks, “Don’t you worry, I only need your life force every once and a while. That won’t be a common occurrence. You’ll just feel more tired than usual every now and then! Surely you paladins must know that it won’t kill you, we demons are very particular on how much life force we take. It would do us no good for our humans to go ahead and start dropping like flies when we need them to live!”</p><p> </p><p>...Huh.</p><p> </p><p>Still feeling bewildered, she scratches the back of her neck. There’s still some tiredness in her muscles and her mind unhelpfully replays a certain saying again, and again, and again.</p><p> </p><p>“...Sex slave…” She murmurs, and damn, did her heart just skip a beat? She was really expecting him to be gone by the time she awoke and she’d be tired for the rest of the week. The whole thought of slavery was a passing fantasy for her… But no, apparently… Talran means for this to be a permanent arrangement.</p><p> </p><p>“And a slave of… other things,” Talran quips nonchalantly, “I can cook and clean, too! I’ll earn my keep. Just try my cakes and you’ll see how good I am in the kitchen.”</p><p> </p><p>The mattress dips when he gets into the bed with her, his tail wagging like an excitable dog.</p><p> </p><p>“You gave me the greatest beating I could have dreamed of!” He says, his blush returning, expression twisting into the very picture of a submissive whore, “I knew you were the one as soon as I smelled you! Please be my Master, please, please, please.”</p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, it’s a bit of an ego boost to have an incubus say you were their best fuck. She thinks about the sheer joy she had felt thoroughly dominating him and… well… Having him cook and clean is certainly an added bonus, too. Very, <em> very </em>enticing…</p><p> </p><p>Damn, maybe she’s been truly corrupted, because she flashes her canines in a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>But corruption, as it turned out, was just so much <em> fun. </em></p><p> </p><p>She takes his chin between her thumb and pointer finger, watching how his pupils dilate. He’s still got those red welts covering his body, and while she’s not sure if demons even do aftercare, Svetlana decides she’s going to at least be a <em> considerate </em> Master. There must be some ointment around here somewhere.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Master. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her body tingles at the mere thought.</p><p> </p><p>She traces his bottom lip with her thumb.</p><p> </p><p>“Well… <em> pet, </em> I think this is an arrangement I can agree with.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Avandeyeva’s gaze is initially curious, but her lips twitch into a friendly smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Aaah, so your <em> thoughts </em>were about your fiance! Personally, I can’t believe you’ve kept him a secret this entire time, comrade!”</p><p> </p><p>Talran flutters his eyes shyly, shifting on his feet as both he and Svetlana stand against a wall as she… introduces him to her fellow paladins. He’s in his fully human form, with no horns or tail. His face remains a blazing red with a blush, though the others chalk it up to him being a bashful future groom to a paladin.</p><p> </p><p>Svetlana makes a show of smiling with an ignorant face as she massages his buttocks from behind. With the wall directly behind them, Avandeyeva doesn’t suspect a thing.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I must apologize for that,” Svetlana says, “He’s from Bracken, which you must know is so very far away. For a time our relationship was… unsure, but after repenting I just knew I had to have this man in my life, so I proposed as soon I got the chance.”</p><p> </p><p>Marriage isn’t looked down for paladins, though sex still is, unless if it’s for procreation.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand continues to unabashedly grope Talran’s ass, and soon she begins teasing his entrance with the tip of her finger.</p><p> </p><p>He stiffens his lips as he holds back from letting out a sound of pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>“Our love is pure— even the Saints themselves can attest to that,” she sinks her digit into his asshole, pumping in and out, “We intend to have a fully chaste marriage in order to keep our dedication to Saint Rosilia.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, yes, very chaste. Just this morning she rode Talran’s face while roughly twisting his nipples. She fully intends to have his cock inside of her later, and she idly thinks of sticking a lit candle in his asshole at some point. And paddling. She’s already paddled him before but she absolutely needs to do it again before the day is finished.</p><p> </p><p>Avandeyeva's smile grows, clearly finding the arrangement acceptable.</p><p> </p><p>And the two of them certainly have a… very dedicated ‘marriage.’</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Puritanical Eastern-European paladins wasn't something I thought I'd write, but here we are, lmao.</p><p>Anyhow, can anyone give me some Korean names? I wanna try my hand at A/B/O at some point and I wanna set it in Korea cause why not, amirite. But I haven't found names that click with me yet.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. To the Sea of Stars and Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by 1Silent_Reader1 - A science teacher gets separated (No, not in the divorced way lol) from his wife because she’s an astronaut who sets off on a mission to look for habitable planets. He pines (a lot) as he waits for her return. Then, years later, her ship is set to return back home…</p><p>Includes: A metric fuckton of plot and then some slightly vanilla sex. Seriously we're talking like 15K words before smut. Has a pining husband, anal fingering, blowjobs (on the dude for the first time since this series began! lol), cunnilingus, handcuffs/blindfolds for a short bit, 69, vaginal sex, a ~sweet~ and ~loving~ couple, a sci-fi setting that my sister calls a 'soft apocalypse'.</p><p>Hope you guys like flashbacks, cause there's a couple of them. In my defense, how else was I meant to flesh out their relationship when one half of the couple is several light years away?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me: I won't write 10K+ for a single request ever again 😤<br/>*proceeds to write 23K*<br/>Me: 👁️👄👁️</p><p>Jokes aside, I am going to actively try to make future stories on the shorter side, lel. I know it's entirely my fault for letting these get as long and as plotty as they are, but for my own sanity I'd like to not... write as much. Really, the next time I write 20K+ I'd actually like to get paid for it. Maybe commissions will be a thing one day, if anyone is actually interested in that sort of thing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>When distance is immaterial, so is speed, and so the idea of time becomes a thing that is malleable. Here in space, at home in the infinite continuum, what is there to do but endlessly explore the universe? ...To find a new planet to be humanity’s newest home?</p><p> </p><p>Rhys endlessly fiddles with an old metal bolt that, despite having it in his possession for years at this point, remains in pristine condition. After all, it wouldn’t be his lucky bolt if he didn’t at least take the time to take care of it and prevent it from getting rusty. He twirls it in his trembling fingers, hoping that the repetitive motion will lessen his growing nerves, but it doesn’t. With frustration beginning to bubble within him, he hisses out an exhale through his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Distantly, he hears some soft spoken whispers behind him, punctuated with the occasional sniffle and utterings of ‘I’m so proud of you.’ Putting the bolt into his breast pocket, Rhys stares out of the massive window of the space station, sequin-silver stars like the scattered embers of a dying fire winks at him, illuminated by the never ending vacuum of space. Occasionally his eyes flick to some of the other ships that float alongside the one he resides in, like the farm and industrial stations. </p><p> </p><p>He can’t help but frown. Space is big. Obviously, he’s well aware of that simple fact… Floating around in a habitat station his entire life and knowing nothing else has made that much obvious. But now… she’s going out in those ominous and lonely looking depths…</p><p> </p><p>Footsteps approaching him make him nibble on his lower lip. It’s soft sounds, with boots stepping over the grass of this park. The artificial light has been toned down to mimic an evening, and the low darkness makes him feel especially vulnerable.</p><p> </p><p><em> You should be happy, idiot, </em>he curses at himself, She’s becoming the beacon of humanity…</p><p>From the reflection of the window Rhys watches his wife step up directly beside him on his left, soft brown eyes under thick black brows gaze at him… Sharp cheekbones and a friendly smile on a wide mouth… A voice that is currently uncharacteristically not very boisterous or full of energy.</p><p> </p><p>“Heyo.” She greets, her hand touching his shoulder and Rhys almost instinctively reaches over to lightly touch her. Even in the reflection, her olive skin seems to shine under the light of the stars. “How’re you holding up, Rhysie?”</p><p> </p><p>With a single mirthless laugh, he turns to her and sucks in a sliver of air. It’s far from the first time he’s seen her in her captain’s uniform— a simple grey space suit with light blue accents— but the sight never ceases to make him feel breathless. </p><p> </p><p>His fingers do not lessen their shaking when he intertwines his hand with hers. “I should be asking you that question, Jo. You’re the one that’s gonna be flung off to space.” In an attempt to relax the tension in his body, he tries to smile with a lighthearted comment. “Man, I already miss your hair.”</p><p> </p><p>Jo lets out a soft chortle, lips forming in a lopsided grin. She used to have hair long enough to reach her lower back, and she always wore it in a tight ponytail. Now, it’s gone with a buzz cut, her reasoning being that she didn’t want to waste her time focusing on hair care when she’s busy with her mission.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, it’ll grow back soon enough. Well, might need to keep cutting it, don’t want anything getting stuck in those pesky little crevices the ships have. Seriously, you’d think they patch that shit up, but I guess not,” she shrugs lazily, her free hand reaching forward to ruffle Rhys’ hair. “At least you’re still fluffier than a cat. Seriously, you’re so ginger I think that no matter where I’ll go I’ll be able to see at least a speck of red somewhere.” She waggles her brows invitingly, “You’ll be my little homing beacon. I’ll never get lost.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s such a silly comment, but Rhys finds himself with a quickly constricting throat. In a fruitless attempt to distract himself, he looks around, eying Jo’s team members say goodbye to their own families. The park itself is closed off to give them privacy, though there are civilians and reporters mulling around the entrance with their cameras, hoping to catch a glimpse of what they’ve dubbed as ‘Humanity’s Heroes.’ Rhys staggers, oh god, she’s leaving tomorrow— into the cold, uninviting sensation of isolation that only space can give… cold, empty constant expansions…</p><p> </p><p>His breathing stutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose, belatedly registering Jo uttering out a series of faint ‘hey’s' as he tries to reign himself in. He’s not going to cry here— not right now. Not in front of her. Rhys feels goosebumps form on his skin when sudden, cold metal grazes his hand.</p><p> </p><p>He swallows thickly, nodding jerkily towards Jo’s robotic arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Remember what I told you. Clean that thing at least once a month,” he says shakily, making an effort to smile, “Though with how messy you are with food you should probably clean it once a week. Sanjay’s going to be your chief engineer, yeah? You should get him to do it so you don’t blow it up…” </p><p> </p><p>Rhys speaks quickly, voice tinged with desperation, and he looks back at her team members.</p><p>“A-And… speaking of your c-crew... Don’t be so impulsive like you always are. You gotta take their opinions into account,” he sniffs, letting out a forlorn chuckle, “Y-You can’t just go jumping into wormholes all willy-nilly, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Quirking a brow at him, Rhys feels the warmth of her non-robot hand cup his cheek. “Shucks, my own hubby still thinks I’m a tyrant, huh? Shot me right through the heart there.” </p><p> </p><p>The two of them both let out a laugh and this time the attempt of levity works, and Rhys feels himself beginning to feel more steady, though the anxiety never quite leaves him. He thinks he’s going to be feeling that way for a while.</p><p> </p><p>Jo pulls him into a tight hug, soft like a duvet and yet stronger than anything he’s ever known, as if holding him wasn't quite enough. He has to feel every ounce that she is pressed into every ounce that is him. Despite the heaviness in his stomach, it flutters at the feeling and warmth.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to miss you.” He whispers and hell, he feels like he’s missing her already.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand circles his back. “Yeah, the feeling is mutual.” They part, only for her to lean forward to brush her lips against his. The act is not an innocent tease, instead it speaks of both passion and forlorn longing. She tastes like peppermint— not a foreign taste at all, in fact she always makes sure to eat a peppermint candy before she kisses him. Rhys’ eyes close, and all he can feel is her.</p><p> </p><p>For Jo, it was a goodbye and for him, it was a reason to hold on. He can feel himself beginning to tremble again, and all at once he feels like a coward in that moment. Their breaths mingle as they part and they stare at each other, the two of them a little unsteady. Desire and hunger glows in her chocolate eyes while she holds his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ face begins to redden with a blush as he remembers that the two of them were <em> very </em> intimate the night prior. Obviously the two of them can’t do anything now considering where they are, but <em> oh </em> what he’d do to feel her body like <em> again </em>just for one last moment. He’s known this time would be coming for months now, and yet he dreaded it every single day.</p><p> </p><p>Clearly sensing this, Jo playful ruffles his hair with a wide grin again. “Once we’re settled I’ll be sure to barrage you with messages. Gotta show you all the pictures I take, yeah? We’ll be permitted to have video calls too. I’ll call you every chance I get.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys nods fitfully, clearing his throat, though not a word comes out of him. He knows it’ll be awhile before she can even send messages in the first place. They have to be stable in their course, or settled on the planet itself with their base. And the video calls will only be permitted to last only half an hour… Got to ‘focus on the mission,’ as everyone says.</p><p> </p><p>He supposes that at least, once they’re able to confirm the planet as habitable that their house will be among the first ones built. Perks of being married to the captain.</p><p> </p><p>“And hey! I'll be gone a while, so that’ll be plenty of time for us to make up a new name for our new home, eh? T-142 is so lame… We should name it…” She tilts her head with a raised brow, “Earth-Two.”</p><p> </p><p>He snorts, his lips forming into his own grin. Once more, he feels himself feeling just a <em> little </em>relieved. Jo just has that natural talent in her.</p><p> </p><p>“Your creativity never ceases to astound me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well, you don't get promoted to captain over nothing, heh. I’ll be fine, really,” she lightly punches his shoulder, “And you will be too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Y-Yes,” he stutters out and he takes a deep breath to further steady himself, “I know. Not a lot of men can say their wife literally paved the way for humanity to get a new home, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>They share some soft snickering, exchanging more banter, and after what feels like <em> far </em>too little time a bell-like noise rings out to signify that Jo and her crew must depart near the docking station. They’ll be resting for the final evening here before leaving for good tomorrow morning— or at least whenever the specifically timed lighting deems it to be morning. Not like they’re orbiting a star right now.</p><p> </p><p>Other people speak, the crowd surrounding the perimeter of the park gets noisier, but it’s all white noise to Rhys as Jo gives him one final gaze that’s so damn <em> loving </em> he thinks he’s going to get a stomach ache. After one last hug and utterance of a whispered <em> ‘I love you’— </em> something that almost makes him choke— before a playful salute from Jo, she proceeds to saunter off towards her crew.</p><p> </p><p>The pain in his chest does not abate.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Before Rhys even realizes it or can come to accept it, it’s the morning of the launch. He, alongside the family members of the other crew members, have their own pier to watch it. Front row seats, as it were. From where they sit they can watch the habitat station’s dock open to release Jo’s ship, the Asphodelus.</p><p> </p><p>There is a palpable excitement buzzing from the crowd on the ground floor. A cacophony of applause and cheering, whooping, hollering, clapping, stamping of feet… An all around spontaneous outpouring of emotion that does not lessen even when the booming voice of an announcer parrots what everyone already knows.</p><p> </p><p>Radars of the station have detected a planet that could potentially be habitable, and a select few will be sent off to confirm just that.</p><p> </p><p>Even with everyone excitedly patting each other on the back, himself included, the noise surrounding Rhys becomes static. The deafening noises increase as the dock continues opening its doors, and yet he doesn’t hear a thing over his beating heart. The whoops and hollers are nothing more than a pin drop in the silence in his head.</p><p> </p><p>When the Asphodelus begins to slowly exit the dock. It’s— incredible. A pristine silver that could blind someone, with sharp corners at the vertices; with a rotating ring module to provide spin gravity. Travel vessels rely primarily on gravitic drives, a relatively recent development as older ships used fusion thrusters propped up at the back. With the ring module and drives, an artificial gravity is created at the front of the ship, allowing it to be pulled forward indefinitely. </p><p> </p><p>Because it’s powered by gravity, and the ship itself is essentially ‘falling’ forward, it cannot exceed lightspeed though it can reach considerable speed. To reach their destination, Jo and her crew will be jumping through a wormhole, a fact that never ceases to make Rhys endlessly nervous.</p><p> </p><p>It is only when they exit the wormhole will they be allowed to send messages and calls to their family. Which really does fucking <em> nothing </em>to calm him.</p><p> </p><p>He begins rubbing his sweaty palms together, watching the Asphodelus begin it’s <em> years-long </em> pilgrimage to T-142. He chuckles despite himself, no missing how pathetic he sounds, but that <em> is </em> a pretty lame name for a planet. But so is Earth-Two. He’ll be sure to tell her that whenever he comes back…</p><p> </p><p>It feels like hours, and yet it feels like second, but amidst the jubilant crowd whose excitement only grows as the ship moves further and further and further along— Rhys inexplicably feels more alone than he ever has. Neon lights flicker from the window he watches out of, his throat mimicking an arid desert as the shape of the Asphodelus grows smaller. </p><p> </p><p>Even without the looming separation from his favourite person in the galaxy, the future was always something he had worried about. Rhys isn’t sure if it’s because of his young mind and lack of wisdom, but he never had given thought to all the time that enclosed his life is only a small speck in a timeline. </p><p> </p><p><em> Time is malleable in space, </em>that’s something of a catchphrase around here, and yet it sure doesn’t feel like it. Not in this moment. There is nothing flexible about time, because if it were he’d be meeting Jo again within a blink of an eye. </p><p> </p><p>No, time is as shapeless as rain, and he knows it’s going to slow down to a trickle and every day from here on out is going to be <em> eons. </em></p><p> </p><p>...But here in space, at home in the infinite continuum… what is there to do but just live on as he usually did…? Just without his other half…?</p><p> </p><p>Rhys stands on the pier long after he can’t see Jo’s ship anymore.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Wormholes are anomalous bridges through hyperspace,” Rhys paces around the dimly lit classroom as his students— a mix of twelve and thirteen year olds— stare at the holographic representation of a wormhole with <em> ooo’s </em> and <em> aah’s. </em> “The universe is separated into several clusters of galaxy systems, and between them an intricate network of wormholes. In order to travel from one system to another, ships travel by hopping from one hole to another several hundred light years away.”</p><p> </p><p>Every movement he makes hides his internal frustrations that bounced inside him like sound in a deep cave. While Rhys is certainly a bit of a… mess back home, he refuses to show such a side of himself to his students. He’s here to teach them, and he’s going to damn well do his job properly. He’s wearing a clean, ironed black blazer and pants, not the unkempt pajamas he usually dons while he mulls around aimlessly in his apartment. Hair combed back and finally no dark rings under his eyes after finally getting a good night’s rest, there is none of the nervousness about him like when he saw Jo off a few days ago.</p><p> </p><p>He supposes that after she had left, his classroom and students had become his salvation. His mind is able to function, his stride grows longer and a smile spreads over Rhys’ face like it belongs there. The chairs and tables have been moved to the back as the students sit on floor mats to watch the hologram begin playing a video of an animated ship going through a wormhole to illustrate how traveling through one works. </p><p> </p><p>His lips twitch upwards, “Contrary to what their name might imply, wormholes were not created by gigantic space worms digging open rifts in the universe. The prevailing hypothesis is that near the beginning of, well, everything, these tears between galaxies came into existence. And as the universe expanded, so too did the distance from either side of the tear.”</p><p> </p><p>A hand shoots up, and Rhys nods at the student’s direction, “Yes, Joe?”</p><p> </p><p>“If it’s just a hypothesis, then we don’t know if that’s <em> really </em>how wormholes were made. Gigantic space worms could have still made them.”</p><p> </p><p>A small wave of snickering washes over the classroom and Rhys joins in. He should have expected as much from the class jokester. He shrugs, “Well, I can’t deny that. A hypothesis is a hypothesis. Maybe we should program our radars to find those worms, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Another hand is lifted, and he gestures toward her. “Yes, Amrita?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is it true that wormholes can make you time travel?”</p><p> </p><p>At that, Rhys has to fight a frown. “Ah, yes. Traveling through a wormhole means traveling through time. So… So if there was a slight miscalculation or error, ships might accidentally travel several years into the future, possibly… <em> billions </em> of years later. They could end up somewhere in the middle of nowhere, because the universe never stops moving, and so the ship could move somewhere in the void between galaxies.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s some murmuring, and while his student’s eyes still twinkle with curiosity it’s clear that the concept of being lost in the middle of nowhere in <em> space </em> frightens them.</p><p> </p><p>After the end of that, he awkwardly rubs his throat, but he makes sure not to show his anxieties on his face. He doesn’t <em> want </em>to think about that, but with Jo hopping through a wormhole— potentially several!— it was inevitable that he had to make a lesson plan about them because he knows his students would have asked about it anyway. He’s prepared himself for this, so he quickly regains his bearings.</p><p> </p><p>Another raised hand, “Viona?” Rhys says.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Callanach, can a planet really carry <em> billions </em> of people?”</p><p> </p><p>Well, he supposes that it was inevitable that he’d be asked that, too. He nods, saying, “Yes. I know this habitat station is big, but remember, planets are much, much bigger. Earth— you remember that lesson, don’t you? What is Earth?”</p><p> </p><p>The students answer in unison, “The cradle of humanity!”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys claps his hand together with a grin, “Yes! And that planet could hold several billions of people. So now we have some very brave people looking for another Earth… One that hopefully has a sun that will last longer this time. Here, let me show you a comparison image of how much bigger a planet is in comparison to all the space stations again.”</p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, it’s a bit hard for him to believe that very fact sometimes. He’s never been on a planet, and he’s only ever seen Earth through pictures and videos. Alongside the habitat, farm and industrial stations, there’s a fourth— the history station, aptly titled The Library of Alexandria. It holds various artifacts from when Earth still existed, essentially acting as a type of archive for human history. Everything he knows of the planet comes from what little visits he’s made to the Alexandria.</p><p> </p><p>Briefly, he wonders how much of a challenge it would be not only for him, but for everyone to adapt to living somewhere so big and with so many biomes he probably couldn’t even properly imagine. When he was in school, he was always taught that this fleet of space stations have been searching for a new home for almost six centuries now, at least that’s what’s been calculated as they continue to follow Earthen time standards. When at least five generations of people have never set foot on a planet with a breathable atmosphere, how do you make the new change as seamless as possible? Surely there’s gonna be a whole slew of new, different jobs required— construction workers to build a livable metropolis being one of them.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ brow twitches, and continues lecturing about wormholes and planets, among other concepts, but due to the topic of the lesson his mind can’t quite help but begin to wander and soon he’s ruminating on his first meeting with Jo——</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Rhys was his students’ age, he spent most of his free time at a local pond. It was the home of many colourful fishes and frogs, and even at his age he knew these animals’ breeding were strictly monitored and carried out by the biologists on both the habitat and farm stations. He liked the general atmosphere the pond gave off, sure the surrounding area was a place many people liked to exercise with jogging and biking, but it was also serene. The perfect spot for him to sit against a tree and tinker on a mini rocket he had built— more akin to a firecracker than anything else, really.</p><p> </p><p>It also helped that this area of the station had a ceiling that also doubled as a domed window, kind of like an observatory. They were passing a nebula formation, it was recently named but they passed by enough nebulae on a regular basis that he doesn’t really keep that information in his head for very long. And, well, his young mind was more focused on the nuts and bolts in his hands rather than was on top of him.</p><p> </p><p>It was that focus that was probably why he didn’t notice a somewhat lanky girl his age strolling towards him, and Rhys only noticed his impromptu guest when she loomed over him and he saw her shadow.</p><p> </p><p>He blinked, looking up at her, seeing a tight ponytail and olive skin that he would later come to adore.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know her at the time, but he knew <em> of </em> her because she was in his class and she was always, <em> always </em>the one to raise her hand to ask the teacher a question. She was unafraid to ask even if they were questions someone might considered ‘obvious’ or ‘stupid,’— there was a palpable eagerness to learn, and it was a trait Rhys was always inwardly thankful for because he often wanted to say those very questions but was too afraid to since… well… he didn’t want to ask anything that could be considered obvious or stupid…</p><p> </p><p>Hands on her hips, she looked down at him, though it was with a slowly growing smile.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I’m Joanna Callanach. But you can call me Jo. Joanna makes me sound too stuffy.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Out of habit he replied with an introduction of his own, despite his growing befuddlement.</p><p> </p><p><em> “O-Oh… I’m Rhys. Um, Rhys Sinclair. You can just call me… Rhys...” </em> He tried not to cringe outwardly at that sufficiently lame intro, but he wasn’t exactly used to people suddenly coming up and interrupting his much coveted tinker time.</p><p> </p><p>She sat down, and Rhys had to fight the sudden urge to squirm or shift where he sits— he’s… never had a <em> girl </em> just sit so close to him outside of class. He stared at her while she took a look at little bits of machinery his hands were still fiddling with. A wide grin became strewn across her face. </p><p> </p><p><em> “You like building things, eh? I’ve seen you mess with this stuff in class when the teacher isn’t looking.” </em> She said, with a slightly mischievous glint in her eyes, and Rhys didn’t know if he should feel like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do or not. His immediate thought was to worry about being <em> blackmailed </em> of all things, which is fundamentally ridiculous but Jo was known to be a bit of a teacher’s pet and he worried she might tell on him or something like that.</p><p> </p><p>He was also just barely beginning his teen years. Of course he thought of something stupid, like someone was immediately against him. That’s what teenage angst and hormones do to a person… Not that he knew that at the time.</p><p> </p><p>He looked down at the metal scraps, then looked back at Jo. <em> “Um… Yeah.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “What’cha making?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “...A mini rocket… kind of.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jo let out a long <em> coooooool, </em> and he could feel his face begin to warm from her seemingly genuine curiosity. Not <em> only </em>was he entirely unused to a girl taking any sort of notice of him, he was also unused to anyone giving his little hobby much notice either because he was very much an introvert who kept to himself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (Little did he know, but Jo being a sudden and later welcome part of his life would gradually make him break him out of his shell). </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “If you made it a little bigger, do you think you could make a jetpack? Or hover boots?” </em> Jo inquired, and Rhys blinked in quick succession out of momentary confusion. He’s never attempted something quite that large before… primarily because he thought it to be too complicated for his current skill set… Though he <em> did </em>have every intention of building those things whenever he believed himself able.</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged, shoulders hunching— his dad always told him he needed better posture— <em> “I guess if they were bigger it could be something like a jetpack… It would be hard, and I don’t really think I could do it… Um, not right now, anyway.” </em></p><p> </p><p>She nodded sagely, hand rubbing her chin and eyes closed as if she were deep in thought. Her grin became a toothy one once she looked at him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “We’re on Gaia.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>...Yes, that was indeed what this habitat station was called. Rhys nodded tentatively, unsure of what to think about the change of conversation.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Apparently humans have been floating around space for a while now. Gaia and the other habitat stations have a max capacity of the low millions.” </em>She said and man, was she a lot more eloquent in her words than the other students in class. The way she carried herself and spoke like that— it really did give Rhys the impression that she was older. Certainly more mature than everyone else, he supposed, despite her energetic nature. It was a small wonder that she was consistently the one with the highest grades in school.</p><p> </p><p>Though her saying all this was still confusing to him, and he wondered about the point of it. She leaned in with a conspiratorial smirk, <em> “There’s a reason they recently made that new law, you know. The max one kid allowed per family thing, and if you pop out a kid you gotta get sterilized.” </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Yes, </em> even in his youth he knew that population control was a necessity. That’s what they taught in school. He wasn’t <em> stupid. </em></p><p> </p><p>Jo leans back, hands on her hips with something akin to triumph being etched across her features.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Which is why we need to get a new Earth! And you know what? I’m gonna be the one to find it! I’ll— I’ll—!!” </em> She took in a deep breath, and something told Rhys she had been practicing pumping herself up for this spiel, <em> “I’ll lead humanity to the new frontier!!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Completely at a loss at how to properly respond to suddenly being yelled at excitedly, Rhys merely gaped at her like the fish in the pond and nodded fitfully. He wasn’t <em> totally </em>unused to being utterly flustered whenever someone spoke to him, but this was certainly… new.</p><p> </p><p>She pointed at him then, and he straightened his back immediately as if she were some type of commanding officer. She certainly had the tone of one.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “And because of that, I need you!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rhys spluttered, mouth opening and closing until he was able to make a verbal response… though it wasn’t the most eloquent of replies.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “H-Huh?!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jo snickered, like the two of them were in on some type of scandalous secret he wasn’t even aware of, her initially perceived maturity dissolving into childish glee. <em> “You may try to hide it, but you build so many cool things! Like you’re a chief engineer!” </em></p><p> </p><p>The <em> very </em> generous compliment made him blush, and he averted his gaze out of instinct. At the time, he just figured he would indeed become an engineer, maybe work on the industrial stations where they mine asteroids, keep a shipyard, and generally build everything needed for the habitat and farm stations. But a <em> chief </em> engineer? <em> Ooooh, </em> that was far too much responsibility—!!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (He had always preferred the certainty of being a follower or observer, and still does. Being a leader spiked his anxiety up like nothing else but now as an adult he has no real qualms being a leader… to children several years younger than him as a teacher. But leading other adults? Being in charge of his own peers? No thank you). </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jo invaded his field of vision even when he attempted to look away. <em> “If I want to be a captain of a ship, I gotta train for it. I gotta be good at everything! So if I get a head start from being able to fly a jet pack or— or shooting a plasma rifle, I’ll be the most obvious candidate to choose from, because then I </em> will <em> be good at everything! Which is where you come in, you’ll build those things for me to practice with!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Nothing intelligible came out Rhys’ mouth as his mind became frazzled by that weird and overly passionate declaration. When Jo took a hold of his hands he let out a noise that was akin to a croaking and dying frog, and his face heated even further.</p><p> </p><p><em> “In history class, what’s the common factor between those famous leaders? Other than they’re old and dead, hehe,” </em> She said it like it was the most hilarious yet obvious thing in the world, <em> “They took risks! And the teachers always say you have to take risks! So that’s what I’m gonna do. It’s so </em> boring <em> otherwise, you know?” </em></p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know, because he was very much content on <em> not </em>taking any risks whatsoever. Boring was a good thing as far as he was concerned!</p><p> </p><p>She turned her head quickly, and the motion caused her ponytail to promptly hit him in the face. As he tried, and failed, to regain his bearings she stood.</p><p> </p><p><em> “I’ve gotta go to cram school now, but I’ll see you tomorrow Rhys! We start our… training then. It’ll be fun!” </em> She said with a wide smile like she didn’t just rope him into a bizarre scheme without any input on his end, <em> “Bye-bye!” </em></p><p> </p><p>As he watched her retreating form he had to remind himself to close his gaping mouth. For a moment, he bristled, his green eyes narrowing.</p><p> </p><p><em> W-What a tyrant! </em>He had thought, though his indignation was quickly snuffed out at the thought of anyone else having seen that little spectacle. With that in his mind, he quickly packed his stuff and went back home, and in the end his mini rocket was a successful contraption— but considering he had built in his room that evening it promptly put a hole through the ceiling.</p><p> </p><p>He subsequently returned to his usual spot at the pond, not thinking Jo would actually return.</p><p> </p><p>But she did.</p><p> </p><p>Again.</p><p> </p><p>And again.</p><p> </p><p>And again.</p><p> </p><p>Until she became such a fixture on his afternoons and evenings that he had hopelessly grown used to her exuberant presence. He didn’t make her jet packs or anything like that— oh no, that would come later as he perfected his craft— instead she opted to sit with him and… observe… <em> Learn. </em>Before he knew it she was bringing her own building supplies and they’d make things together, like homemade self-propelled roller skates or programming a remote control toy car.</p><p> </p><p><em> “A captain has to know how to engineer some things, too!” </em> Was another justification for joining his hobby. Rhys came to the quick realization that practically <em> everything </em> she did was done with the motivation that it would make her a better hypothetical captain. She had a pretty one track mind, if anything.</p><p> </p><p>And he wasn’t sure if it was just because of his personality or because she was clearly someone who was a natural born leader, but she had a knack of getting him to do what she wanted. He didn’t think it was even intentional on her part— it was just her personality. <em> "Get over here!" </em> or, <em> "Do this!" </em> and he’d… come running or do whatever she <em> commanded. </em>Even mere suggestions he did. He sort of did become her chief engineer for a time... but only because it didn’t involve him actually being in charge of anything.</p><p> </p><p>At first he found her then seemingly permanent presence borderline frustrating— no longer was his tinker time solely <em> his, </em> it became <em> their’s— </em>but… it did not take long in the slightest for him to just… kind of enjoy it. It was… Refreshing. A welcome change of pace.</p><p> </p><p>Jo just had that air to her. An extroverted charm to her that drew him towards her like a moth to a flame.</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, he kept getting closer and closer to her.</p><p> </p><p>It would only be when he was an adult would he realize that he quickly became enamored with her.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>——Rhys can feel his cheeks warm from the memory, and he absolutely would have fumbled over his words had he still been lecturing, but luckily he had put a video on for the class. He sits in the back, the video slightly illuminating the room with flickering images. Fitting with the theme of the day’s lesson, it’s about how wormholes work. Every now and then he can hear his students write on their worksheets— most classes use tablets and other digital media, though Rhys was always partial to the ancient method of actually writing. He believed it to be more productive in retaining information instead of typing it in.</p><p> </p><p>Glancing down, his fingers begin playing around his wedding ring— an ancient Earthen tradition that still goes strong. The ring is a plain silver colour but looking closer it’s quite ornate with embossed Triquetras, or Trinity Knots, surrounding the band. Jo had specifically gotten it commissioned for him as a nod to his ancestral heritage. He knows his ancestors came from a country called Ireland, and while he admittedly doesn’t know a whole lot about the place due to frankly not being very invested in Earthen history, at least when it came his own history, he does know Triquetras symbolize the meanings of eternal love and strength.</p><p> </p><p><em> Well, I’ve certainly got a lot of love to give to Jo. Maybe so much it’s eternal, </em> he smiles unconsciously at the saccharine thought, <em> Strength though… Might need more of that. </em></p><p> </p><p>He supposes it might even be a little miraculous if he’s able to keep his head on his shoulders as the days without Jo continue to lumber on by. Soon, his fingers begin fiddling with the bolt he religiously keeps in his pockets.</p><p> </p><p>In the midst of his thoughts, one of his students turns towards him with a look of curiosity, and he lifts his brow and nods to encourage them to ask whatever question is on their mind.</p><p> </p><p>The child whispers, “Mr. Callanach… is it true that astronauts have to wear diapers?”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys responded to that by choking on some air.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><em> “Ireland? Ire, and land? So is it Angryland, then?” </em>Jo said with a good natured smirk, and there was a slight stench of smoke as she experimentally put two open wires together, the action making some sparks. Considering the very obvious fire hazard, the two of them did this in a garage that was built specifically for aspiring engineers to do robotics work. </p><p> </p><p>They were attempting to see if they could make a small flamethrower— <em> “A good captain needs to be proactive and be able to build things outta nothing so she can protect herself when she’s in dire situations!” </em> Was her justification for that day’s ‘training’— and she rocked back and forth on her chair excitedly. They were fifteen then, and Rhys was yet to create a jetpack despite her insistence, though he was certainly <em> trying. </em>It’s just that he’s yet to get anything working properly.</p><p> </p><p><em> “I heard people liked the Irish ‘cause they had accents everyone thought was nice. I wanna go on the Alexandria and see if there’s any video or audio about Ireland now. Oh! I remember hearing something like the ‘the luck of the Irish,’ so that’s why you have that lucky bolt with you all the time!” </em> Jo commented, before fiddling with her safety goggles and diving back to making sparks with reckless abandon.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys shrugged. Accents are a thing of a bygone era as far as he knew, and he also happened to be one of the last humans with naturally occurring red hair. Apparently when Earth was still a thing, even with billions of people, red hair was still a rarity.</p><p> </p><p><em> “I’m part Greek and Scottish,” </em> Jo said, <em> “That’s what my ma and pa say. Apparently I look more Greek than Scottish, so that means I take more after my ma. There’s a lot of Greek things in the Alexandria! Oh, hey, pass me that screw. And connect the switch with the gas module. Afterwards start making a list for what we need for the boosters.” </em></p><p> </p><p><em> “Mhm,” </em> Rhys replied as he did as requested, <em> “I think I heard that Greece was the birthplace of… what was it… Western Civilization? Something like that. Here, I’ve connected the switch with the gas module… Just try to be careful with it.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Jo’s lips formed into something impish, rubbing her hands like a villain and made a show of reaching forward and clicking it, and sure enough, a respectable burst of flame came through. She put her hand up, and he obliged her with a high-five. He was about to jokingly give her an applause, but someone cleared their throat— an adult, a willowy and tall woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper voice.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Ahem. This space is not to be used to create weapons. This is the third time I’ve told you this.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rhys and Jo decided to call it quits early that day. She quickly told him to come to the equivalent of a town square at 2:30 PM sharp, and without waiting for his reply she skipped off.</p><p> </p><p>And upon returning home, Rhys spent the next few hours reading up what he could about Greece and Scotland.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He awakes groggily, and blinks his apartment room back into focus. Dreams of memories has become increasingly common, and they generally make him wake up early— not unlike a nightmare which is annoying because these are <em> not </em>nightmares or anything of the sort. Regardless, looking at the clock, he sees it’s 3AM.</p><p> </p><p>Rubbing his eyes he then glances at his workstation, a mess of unfinished projects. Maybe he would sleep better if he actually slept in the bed, but without Jo’s warmth, he finds himself just drifting to the couch. Fuck, he’s such a dumb sap. His hands mindlessly fiddle with his so-called lucky bolt.</p><p> </p><p>In order to distract himself, he takes a look at his data pad and spots a message icon. He feels a spike in his heartbeat as he quickly opens it, immediately breathing a sigh of relief.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hisashi, 1.47 AM: </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Jo’s vital signs remain normal. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He can feel his expression relaxing, unaware that his features have become so tense. Noticing there are more messages, he continues reading on.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hisashi, 2.59 AM: </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hey, you want to go out for drinks sometime next week? And maybe a jog later? Got to get you out of your apartment when you’re not teaching, yeah? Jo would kick my ass if she came back and saw that you let yourself go. (ToT) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ lips twitch upwards. Hisashi works at the mission control center and he’s primarily in charge of monitoring the crew’s vital signs, working the night shifts. Which is good for Rhys, as since he’s pretty good friends with the man he gets to receive the occasional update. Even if the update is only a confirmation that she’s just fine, it’s more than enough for him.</p><p> </p><p>He quickly types his reply.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Rhys, 3.21 AM: </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sure. I’ll leave you in the dust, both with drinking and with the jog.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The reply is almost instantaneous, leading him to believe that Hisashi must be on his break.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hisashi, 3.22 AM: </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Just because you’re Irish and your wife was the captain of the track and field team back in school doesn’t mean you’re automatically good at either! You’re on! ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Chuckling softly, Rhys types his reply and the two of them fall into an easy banter. He remembers being told that a stereotype for his ancestors was that they apparently drank a lot— it was something Jo enjoyed teasing him about whenever he imbibed liquor. He stands and stretches, knowing he won’t be able to fall back asleep. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a new day.</p><p> </p><p>Another day to slowly get used to the lack of Jo’s presence.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The days become weeks, and the weeks become months.</p><p> </p><p>And luckily before the first year can pass, Rhys is gifted with the incredible development that Jo can send him messages now. That she can go as far as to give him a <em> video </em> call.</p><p> </p><p>He could barely sit still in his seat. He had stood and paced around the room at least five times now. Knee now bouncing, his mind wondering what he’d do if for some reason there was some type of video malfunction. He thinks he would just pass away. Boom. That’s it. Not being able to speak with her would just straight up kill him. </p><p> </p><p>Rhys <em> did </em>feel giddy with excitement, though with a healthy dose of nervousness. He wants to run, to shout, to tell everyone what was going to happen— he was about to speak with his wife again! Really, everyone needed to hear the good news. Inhaling deeply, feeling a surge of emotion as he stares at his reflection on the computer screen, his mind fluttering back to a whole slew of old memories. He feels as though every fiber of his being is vibrating with anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>Even his hands are trembling. If he were still pacing there’d be a bounce in his step.</p><p> </p><p>When there’s a <em> beep </em> that tells him a video call is beginning, and a light flickers to signify his webcam has turned on. When he sees her— <em> holy sh… it’s her, it’s her, it’sherit’sher— </em>he has to remember how to breathe again, throat constricting as his hands do not stop their quaking. </p><p> </p><p>Jo is grinning from ear to ear. She’s grown her hair, but only just beyond her ears, and she’s slightly paler than usual, and there’s slight bags under her ears. To be expected considering the magnitude of her mission, sure, but it does not absolve the near constant sense of worry he has had for her ever since she left. </p><p> </p><p>Though the crinkle in her eyes makes his heart skip a beat.</p><p> </p><p>And her <em> voice— </em></p><p> </p><p>“Ayyy, lookit you all dolled up just for me. Is that new hair gel? Very slick looking. But my Rhysie is always slick looking.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ah, damn. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His eyes slowly fill with tears, so he keeps them at bay. He has to clear his throat to regain his bearings, her nonchalance at everything making the whole thing all the emotional for him. Like she isn’t several lightyears away from him and like she hasn’t been gone for almost a whole bloody year.</p><p> </p><p>If only he could reach through the screen and touch her.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys chokes out a laugh, “Yeah, well, with what little video calls we’ll be allowed I have to make sure to look my best.” He paused tentatively, “I-It’s so good to see you… How have you been? Are you fine? How is everyone else? Can you tell me where you are right now? How close are you to T-142? Have you been cleaning your arm? Have you been eating, exercising, bathing—”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t think I’d be sitting through an interrogation,” she smirks, “Though if my interrogator is as pretty as you I guess I don’t have a problem. I’ve been swell, and so has everyone else. Tired, but swell. We’re in the middle of nowhere in space but the radars say we’re on the right track. Still a ways away from Earth-Two. My arm is fine and dandy,” to illustrate that, she flexes her robotic arm, “And yes to the eating, exercising and bathing.”</p><p> </p><p>She tilts her head playfully, “You really think I wouldn’t be bathing? Have a little faith in your wife, Rhys.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hehe, well, sometimes a man has to make sure. I remember the days when you’d be working so hard I would have to remind you to go to bed lest you wanted to just pass out where you stood.” A though swims through his head, and he figures it would be some good information to relay to his students if possible, “...What’s it like to jump through a wormhole?”</p><p> </p><p>Jo leans back in her seat, the video image tearing for a few seconds and becoming pixelated from momentary lag. “Fast. Felt like I was becoming one with my damn seat, I was pushed back so hard from the gravity— couldn’t even lean forward. And when we got out we all proceeded to throw up. I guess they like to conveniently leave that shit out when they’re trying to convince kids to join the space cadets, heh.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods, chuckling softly, he certainly does not envy the less glamorous parts of her job. His eyes flick back to her arm and he feels a pang of nostalgia. “I’ll be able to sleep better at night knowing you’re not doing anything crazy in the middle of space,” He raises a brow in a joking manner, “Like when you lost your arm.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah! I was waiting for that. I ain’t ever going to live that down, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope, I’ll make sure to torment you with it forever.”</p><p> </p><p>The two of them exchange some laughter, and soon after, they reminisce on the memory.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Rhys knew Jo wanted to be a captain and find a new planet for perfectly noble reasons. After all, humanity getting a new home is really the only motivation a person needed, wasn’t it? </p><p> </p><p>But at the same time, she had no qualms admitting she had utterly selfish reasons for practically her whole life revolving around becoming a captain of a ship. And it was an exceedingly simple reason. Selfish, one might certainly say that, but simple nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>She wanted to be famous.</p><p> </p><p>She wanted to be known for centuries to come. For millennia. She wanted her name to be written in textbooks. She wanted to have her very own chapter in the annals of history.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t want to just be Joanna Callanach, she wanted to be <em> The </em> Joanna Callanach.</p><p> </p><p>And a working jetpack was the first step. Sort of. Rhys finally making one that could work just ended up being an end goal at some point, and he didn’t know if she wanted to try it simply because it was just hyped up a lot or because while in space one would need to use propulsions systems in their suits which was <em> pretty much </em> a jetpack. Regardless, at eighteen, he managed to to get something in working order made of various parts he scrounged up in the shipyard— or, well, that Joanna <em> stole </em> from the shipyards in secret. Neither of them had clearance to go to the industrial stations but she somehow made it. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes he fears how good she is at certain things when she puts her mind to it.</p><p> </p><p>He frowned as he looked at her, it wasn’t the most attractive looking thing purely because it was made of spare parts from various ships, but he also had another niggling worry at the back of his head.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I’m not really sure doing this in a place with a roof is such a smart idea.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jo shrugged, swinging a set of keys around her finger— schools didn’t have the budget for a keypad. <em> “We’ll be graduating in, what, two months? After that I won’t be the captain of the track and field team, so I won’t have the keys to the gym. I say we use this place while it lasts!” </em> <em> <br/><br/></em></p><p>Rhys rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “This coming from the girl who manages to sneak into the industrial stations without being noticed. You’d totally be able to pick the lock, or whatever it is you do.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With a smile strewn across her features, she made a look that spoke of ignorant innocence. <em> “Whaaat? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” </em> She threw the keys towards him suddenly and he stumbled to catch it, <em> “Besides, there’s a reason I set up all the mats and cushions. It’ll be fine. Gotta be better landing on mats than the pavement or ground in case something goes amuck, you know? Plus it’s a controlled environment.” </em></p><p> </p><p>He shifted on his feet, still feeling some anxiety— which on a good day he’d call an impending sense of doom. He wanted to protest, but he knew his attempt would both be feeble and ignored.</p><p> </p><p>There was a series of clicking as she connected the straps together and settled her hands on the handlebars. She smirked at him with a look akin to triumph, like she had already won at something.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Ready to make history, chief engineer?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t help but have his own lips twitch in a tiny smile. <em> “I think I’m good. Never been one for fame.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Heh, your loss.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With a flip of a switch and a deep breath on her part, smoke began to enemate from the crudely made propulsion system strapped on her back. There were a few splutters and for a brief moment it appeared nothing substantial would come out of it, then there was a crackling noise and short bursts of flame came to life. It did not immediately lift her, but in a short burst her feet came off the ground for a second. It was more like a jump than anything else.</p><p> </p><p>Before Rhys could begin to feel a modicum of relief from the jetpack not working, his stomach filled with even more butterflies of nervousness as it began to release more gas and flames but with more vigour this time around.</p><p> </p><p>And… if lifted her. Jo’s feet dangled in the air as a wide grin split across her face, and a series of musical giggles came out of her. Smoke bellowed out of the back of the jetpac, though not enough to be outright suffocating. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Haha! We did it Rhys! It’s like I’m exploring a new world already!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ heart fluttered as he continued to watch her float around, occasionally changing her direction and spinning around. He pursed his lips together, <em> “G-Great! But, uh, surely you’ve flown enough. There’s still a lot of stuff I still need to tinker with that—!!” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Ah, you worry too much! It’s fun, you should try it next—” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She was interrupted by an ominous <em> crack, </em> followed by a beeping noise that made both their expressions fall faster than faster than a disintegrating rocket. <em> “L-Land! Shut it off!” </em>Rhys shouted, his heart rate increased erratically when he saw Jo began to fumble with the handlebars. </p><p> </p><p>Jo grunted through gnashed teeth, <em> “I’m trying!” </em> Frustration knitted her features and Rhys felt himself begin to perspire before he realized that <em> ah! </em>The jetpack was connected to a tube that snaked around the floor of the gym and pumped out the gas. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (Mere days later he would kick himself over not even considering the idea of telling her to just unfasten her straps and simply fall out of the thing. Such a thing genuinely did not cross his mind in the heat of the moment). </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But before he could even ruminate on the idea of running to where the tube is connected, Jo has a sharp descent, which at the time gave him immense relief because it meant she would land— albeit probably a bit roughly. Though, clearly, the universe was out to give him a heart attack at the age of eighteen Jo rocketed up in a series of painful looking spindly motions.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ first thought was to worry about what effect the g-force would have on her from how violent the jetpack now flings her around, and then his second thought was to promptly scream in horror when an unnaturally loud clang caused exceedingly more smoke to pour out of the rockets, which in turn caused Jo to fly in a wide arc, curling backwards, and—</p><p> </p><p>Straight into the bleachers.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys saw the spots in the corners of his vision, making his head feel like the only thing inside of it was static. He heard a buzzing noise, filling his ears. He felt like he was there for hours, willing his shaking legs to actually <em> move </em>forward. He sucked in cramped air, feeling his lungs caving in on themselves as he breathed in malodorous smoke.</p><p> </p><p>And when he was able to take a step forward, a pathetic noise hissed out of his throat when the smoke dispersed enough for him to see that there’s a goddamn <em> crater </em>in the bleachers where she crashed.</p><p> </p><p><em> “J-Jo…?” </em> He squeaked, clenching his fists together as he willed himself to make his voice louder, <em> “Jo!” </em></p><p> </p><p>There was shuffling accompanied by a groan, and he heaved a sigh of relief for a split second before regaining control over his own legs. He stumbled forward, both hesitant and terrified over what he would see. But she groaned and she’s moving, so that’s gotta be something.</p><p> </p><p>He saw a silhouette and her face came into focus— his lips part with stuttery gasps. There was blood trickling down her forehead but it was nothing to the skull splitting head injury he was imagining. His heart still beat thunderously against his ribcage but he could feel himself beginning to calm, if only a small bit.</p><p> </p><p><em> “T-Thank goodness you’re alright…” </em> He muttered, a mix of bewilderment in his tone. It <em> did </em>look like a pretty harsh crash landing.</p><p> </p><p>And yet despite that, she appears to stand just fine, though he can’t see her whole body due to the smoke and wreckage, <em> “That…” </em> She says, giddiness evident in her tone as she smiled like their little so-called training session wasn’t just an abject failure. <em> “...Was fucking awesome!!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Any other person he thinks he would imagine himself throttling them, but with her he just sighs and puts his hands on his knees as he pants like he just ran a marathon. Clearing his throat while coughing in the process, he waves some of the smoke aside as he heard steps excitedly approach him. She’s coming in for a high-five, he knows that much, and when he looked up he was going to oblige her.</p><p> </p><p>Well, he would have, really… if she still had an arm attached to her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>For the second time in mere minutes Rhys’ lungs contracted with such force that he was afraid they would fold into themselves. The shockingly clean cut of her arm made the hair strand straight up on the back of his neck and his accompanying  scream was the most piercing and loudest his voice has ever sounded to himself. The red— the bone— the flesh— <em> thethethe— </em></p><p> </p><p>She was clearly drunk on adrenaline and a whole slew of other chemicals firing through her brain, as she looked at the gushing blood with a dazed and befuddled eyes. Jo's blood ran dark on her skin. Where it was honeyed, golden in the candlelight, it quickly became grey, ashen.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Oh… oh geez…” </em> She mumbled, eyes rolling back and before Rhys could fully register the sight before him, she fainted.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“God, the fall out from that was a real shitshow, huh? Suspended and missing the graduation ceremony. My parents were pissed. And I remember you being so angry! And I’ve never seen you so angry ever since, so I must be doing something right, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ face warms from the thought. He’s never yelled at someone like he did with her back then and thankfully he’s never been given the reason to do something like that ever again. Of course, he apologized incessantly about it— Jo <em> was </em> still recovering in the hospital from a <em> ripped off arm </em> when he lectured her— but she in turn endlessly told him he was in the right.</p><p> </p><p><em> “L-Leaders take risks, sure, but leaders aren’t fucking reckless! You can’t just do things like that!” </em> He remembers yelling, <em> “You—You have to take other people into consideration! Just think about it, they’re going to see you building your own jet pack, losing your arm, and think you’re a nutcase! Who wants to follow someone who does that?! How could you think something like this would get you noticed by the space cadets?! This is going to ruin your chance of becoming a captain!” </em></p><p> </p><p>And he can’t really remember swearing again after that, either. It was such an emotionally charged day, with tears running down his face he thought would never stop. Jo, for her part, was sufficiently cowed by his display. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Yeah… you’re right, I’m… I’m sorry. I should have listened to you when we were in the gym… Sorry…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was a tense month or so after that, but he saw a change— she began taking other’s opinions into consideration. She began to <em> ask </em>if he wanted to do this or that, instead of just telling him to do it, among other things. He remembers her telling him she needed a ‘redemption arc’ to make up for such a ridiculous fluke, and when things calmed down he would jokingly call her a tyrant every now and then as a reference to... almost everything regarding their early friendship. But the passion remained. The loss of an arm may have slowed her down but it did not stop her in the slightest. </p><p> </p><p>And her little redemption arc clearly worked, since when she went into training almost a decade later she excelled. It really wasn’t a competition, and the people in charge would have been fools not to choose her as the prime candidate to become captain.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take him long to realize that her passion and drive… greatly attracted him.</p><p> </p><p>He yelled at her because he was concerned over her lack of consideration over her own safety, and a while later he would figure out there was something else bubbling just beneath the surface. He was concerned about her as a friend, sure, but there was certainly much more to it.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers glancing at her as she gazed up at the star studded sky while she was still recovering in the hospital, and suddenly he just… fell for her, like all the shooting stars above.</p><p> </p><p>The half hour allowed for their talk feels as though it’s mere seconds, and they mostly reminisce over old memories. When Jo has to leave, Rhys stays staring forlornly at the screen for what felt like another half hour.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Both Rhys and Hisashi wheeze for air as they round a corner and finish their jog— though it was more of a sprint at the end as they tried to surpass one another. Rhys never really considered a very competitive person, but when it came to jogging with his friend he felt as though he just <em> had </em>to win. For the bragging rights, of course.</p><p> </p><p>He wipes the sweat from his brow, “I—haah, I win. That’s… what’s the score…. 24 to 0?”</p><p> </p><p>The smaller man rolls his eyes and playfully punches his arm. “Yeah, and what’s the score with you and my sister? 0 to 674?”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys snorts, primarily because that the score is probably true to some degree. The only person who can give Hisashi’s sister, Suki, a challenge when it came to running was Jo. The two women always consistently left them in the dust. But that’s probably because Jo and Suki trained themselves religiously to prepare themselves for hyperspace as a captain and a plasma physicist respectively. </p><p> </p><p>Briefly, Rhys wonders about the ethics of a brother having to keep up to date with his own sister’s vital signs. That’s gotta be a little weird, right? It’s that very thought that propels his question, “So, how is Suki? Been able to do video calls with her? How’s that work when you’re working in the control center?”</p><p> </p><p>“Simple, we just chat when I’m off shift. But yeah I can see what you meant about the length permitted. Maybe we should start writing some strongly worded letters to the flight director, eh? Honestly it just seems borderline cruel to just have it be half an hour.” Hisashi’s lips curled into a lopsided smirk, “If it’s this bad for siblings I can only imagine it as torture for insufferable lovebirds like you.” </p><p> </p><p>Rhys rolls his eyes , though it’s with a smile. “Says the man who can barely deal being separated with his dog to the point he has to take the pooch to work with him. If you ever get hitched you’ll come crawling to me begging me for advice about how to deal with spending a day away from your spouse. You’ll find I’m actually dealing with this pretty well. Swimmingly, really.”</p><p> </p><p>...Is he saying that more so to convince himself? Whatever.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a borderline mischievous glint in Hisashi’s eyes, the sort of thing that happens when the man seems to get an idea. And he gets an awful lot of ideas. The last time Rhys saw The Look Hisashi tried to invent a machine that would allow a person to telepathically speak with a dog. It didn’t work.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re doing just well, huh,” Hisashi says, drawing out the words like he’s privy to some sort of secret, “In that case, guess my little device isn’t needed.”</p><p> </p><p>Obviously he can’t <em> not </em>question what he means. “Oh yeah? What is it this time? Going to try to harness the power of wormholes to create teleportation again?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re just coping so swimmingly. Don’t need me to help you, no siree.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys narrows his eyes, while Hisashi keeps a nonchalant smile on his features. His friend makes a theatrical display of digging through his pocket, then practically shoving a small device in his face. “Then I guess you don’t need… <em> this!!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Blinking owlishly, Rhys looks at it, soon realizing it’s some type of heart rate monitor. It’s not connected to anything, yet he can see the steady rhythm of the electrocardiography going up and down, with small beeping in tandem with each beat. A normal, steady heartbeat from what he can gather.</p><p> </p><p>Looking like he’s expecting praise, Hisashi’s voice booms. “Jo’s heart rate!”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ eyes widen in shock. “Wha— huh?! R-really? Is that allowed?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been working on this thing for a while now. It’s connected with her robotic arm, basically measuring her pulse where her wrist would be. Now,” Hisashi waggles his finger, “Considering she’s, you know, several lightyears away from us this thing can lag. It ain’t foolproof. And whenever she takes off her arm it’ll flatline because it’ll basically be turned off. <em> And </em>it can just, like… turn off sometimes anyway. I’m still tweaking this monitor. Let’s just say it’s in the beta stages.”</p><p> </p><p>His proud expression wavers, lips twitching downwards, “Uuh… I guess when I explain it like that this monitor could just make everything more stressful if you end up thinking she just died…” He scratches the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly, “So much for me helping you with this whole shebang, huh…”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys would find Hisashi ignoring his <em> ‘is that allowed?’ </em>question interesting but he finds himself too drawn to watching the heart rate to make much note of it. Almost instinctively he reaches out to grab the device, cradling it as if it were something precious.</p><p> </p><p>Because it <em> is </em>precious.</p><p> </p><p>“This is incredible,” he blurts out, looking back at Hisashi with nothing but gratitude in his eyes, “T-Thank you so much.”</p><p> </p><p>Now it’s his friend’s turn to blink owlishly, apparently not expecting that reaction. Clearing his throat, Hisashi regains his smirk. “Like I said, it still needs some tweaking. Don’t freak out if it flatlines. Just shoot me a message and I’ll fix it up. I’ll keep giving you updates about her vitals every day, too. Maybe if you let me win a jog or two I <em> might </em>make it work fully as intended.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys inhales, and he’ll deny until his dying breath that it was a <em> sniffle— </em> something that immediately caught Hisashi’s attention who promptly calls him a sap. The two of them laugh, and more banter is exchanged, before they continue with another jog. Rhys runs slower this time, his hands tightly clutching the monitor the entire time.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It took two years for his pining to actually go somewhere. And of course, it was Jo that initiated their relationship evolving into something else.</p><p> </p><p>There was a dance they attended while in university. Despite the two of them being in different departments they always made time to keep seeing each other. Jo had expressed surprise when he decided to pursue teaching instead of engineering, but Rhys knew he wanted things like robotics to stay as a hobby, rather than a career.</p><p> </p><p>There were really countless amounts of dances at university, but <em> this </em>one was special. Mainly because it was one that was done in zero gravity.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Can you really call it a dance if you’re just floating around?” </em>Rhys asked between chuckles as he floated around in the air. They were in a domed glass building, an attraction specifically built so that people could experience zero gravity and pretend to be swimming in the sea of stars without needing to wear a spacesuit or, well, potentially dying because space isn’t very welcoming to most people.</p><p> </p><p>Jo, who really wasn’t dressed for this type of event considering she just wore a simple black and white sweatshirt and pants, smiled at him. <em> “Oh yeah? Then what do you call this?” </em></p><p> </p><p>She folded her body to wrap her arms around her bent legs, reminiscent of when someone does a cannonball when they jump into a pool, and did about three spins before unfolding herself to do, or attempt, something akin to pirouette. After doing so, she quirked an expectant brow at him.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys huffed, and tried to not spend too much time just watching her ponytail float behind her, the strands of hair moving like undulating waves. But if he didn’t stare at her hair he’d simply stare somewhere else on her form— his admiration for her had long since become deep seated and long lasting. Her raw enthusiasm, effortless charm, unfailingly kindness and an awareness of the vulnerability of others born from the loss of her arm… Whatever she said she believed in, whatever virtues she professed, he could take it in face value wholeheartedly. That was Jo, black and white, cut and dried. She did change, but over time, evolving rather than taking on any new radical thought that blew her way.</p><p> </p><p>That was just so much to admire about her. </p><p> </p><p>And he figured staring at her hair was the most harmless thing to… ogle at. He certainly had no shortage of appreciation when it came to her body, either...</p><p> </p><p>Her ‘dancing’ in zero gravity, however, could use some work.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “That looks like you didn’t know what you were doing. Kind of like a floundering fish.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She stuck her tongue out with a playful pout. <em> “I do three flips in the air and you call me a fish. Unbelievable. The things I do to impress you.” </em></p><p> </p><p>His heart fluttered and he had to make a concentrated effort to not blush then and there. He cleared his throat to distract himself from his sudden flustered state.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Ah… come on, it doesn’t take that much to impress me anyway.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was a bit of an lame reply, he thought, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to respond to something like that. It wasn’t the first time she made a quip about her ‘impressing’ him, though those were always teasing remarks. Playful banter. <em> Platonic. </em>And always done under the guise she needed to be impressive to be a leader, of course. Captains are the most impressive people on the stations, apparently.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (Though as the time went on, her expressing her desire to impress him increased in frequency, without any reference to her drive to become captain. Rhys, being a man and thus very dense on certain matters, refused to put two and two together). </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And yet, with how she looked at him as they both floated closely together, everything just seemed to vanish from his periphery. There was music playing on the speakers, and now it was gone. There were other students having fun around them, and now they were gone. There was a ground beneath him, and now it was gone.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t see anything but Jo.</p><p> </p><p>And her eyes were aflame, a wry grin on her face and her hair vaguely looked like a halo behind her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “What if I told you that the main reason I want to be captain now is just to impress you?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rhys swallowed and blinked, registering her words but not comprehending them because… <em> huh? </em></p><p> </p><p>She had come to him as a hurricane all those years back, essentially uprooting him with a sudden friendship he initially didn’t think he wanted. After everything being about unquenchable desire for fame, it’s now about… <em> Him? </em>Rhys? Rhys Sinclair? That kid who sat in the corner desk of his class and seldom spoke with anyone else until he met her?</p><p> </p><p>It is that thought that drives him to ask his question.</p><p> </p><p><em> “What’s so special about me?” </em> Which, sure, that probably could have used some more tact on his part considering he really should be able to gather her meaning just <em> fine, </em>his the growing heat on his cheeks and quickening pulse prevented him from using common sense.</p><p> </p><p>Jo snorted.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You’re endearing with how clueless you can be, for one. Despite your staring. I was wondering if you would make any type of first move, but it looks like I’ve got to be a leader in more ways than one, heh?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He squeaked. <em> Squeaked. </em>Unable to formulate any verbal response so he pinched his wrist, an action that caused Jo to snicker.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Oh, Rhysie. Can I call you that? You’re the smartest man I’ve met but sometimes you surprise me that you were able to get into university.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t even hear her playful tease, too focused on the blood rushing to his face and his back hitting the glass ceiling. </p><p> </p><p><em> Rhysie, Rhysie, Rhysie </em> played on repeat in his mind.</p><p> </p><p>He did not miss the lilt in her voice when she said that.</p><p> </p><p><em> “You can absolutely call me that,” </em> he blurted out, words quick and borderline <em> desperate. </em>If he were a dog, he thinks he would be drooling.</p><p> </p><p>Jo let out a bark of laughter, eyes crinkling, and <em> ooooh </em> the sound was divine to his ears—!!</p><p> </p><p><em> “A very talented engineer,” </em> she purred coquettishly, body floating closer to his and when he felt her hand graze his he felt a surge of electricity course through his veins, <em> “Your protruding dimples as you smile, your shy demeanour, how you’re blushing right now as the stars shine down on you, it’s…” </em></p><p> </p><p>She leaned forward, and Rhys’ throat bobbed as she lowered her voice to a whisper.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Really fucking cute.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Feeling as though his head was about to explode he closed his eyes, fully expecting— <em> hoping, praying, desiring, wishing— </em> she would lean in further until her lips brush his. That’s what happens in moments like these, doesn’t it? Please, please, please let that fantasy become a reality—</p><p> </p><p>He felt her breath against his.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “May I?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He could laugh, not because she’s asking for permission, but because he’s not sure she would have done something like that when they were teenagers when she would just take what she wanted when she wanted. But that’s what maturity does to people, he supposes. Makes them into ladies and gentlemen.</p><p> </p><p>He nodded his head jerkily before being able to find his voice. </p><p> </p><p><em> “Y-Yeah… yes, please,” </em>He croaked.</p><p> </p><p>She snickered again, and just like that, they kissed.</p><p> </p><p>Jo tasted like peppermint. She always did.</p><p> </p><p>It was nothing dramatic in the slightest. There was no grand declaration of love and admiration. Just the simplest confrontation probably known to man and a soft, <em> soft </em>kiss. It was nothing he expected of her, this woman who had her arm ripped off from a poorly planned out stunt, and yet it felt exactly like something she’d do all the same.</p><p> </p><p>She surprised him, and she certainly impressed him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He blinks, running his fingers against his lips as if he could feel her tenderness still pressing against him. He knows he’s just imagining it, but he swears he can taste the remnants of a peppermint aftertaste, too. The softness of the pillow and sheets beckon him to go to sleep, and considering there’s no school today, he thinks he just might.</p><p> </p><p>But first, he shifts so that he can get a look at the bedside table, and he spots the heart rate monitor. The faint beeping sound like a lullaby meant to soothe a haggard soul, and he watches it go up and down. It’s slower than when he first saw it during his jog. Steadier.</p><p> </p><p>Jo’s asleep, too.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys smiles against the pillow and closes his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>With this monitor, he’s finally able to sleep in their bed again. The device replaces his lucky bolt in that it always remains in his pocket, never far from him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After the first year well and truly passes, Rhys finds himself more and more… Antsy? Restless? Perpetually horny?</p><p> </p><p>He isn’t sure if he should be embarrassed to admit it, but a part of him was hoping to get… ‘spicier’ for some of these video calls, as Jo would put it. He knew sexual frustration would be an inevitability all things considered but… <em> damn. </em> It’s not absurd of him to want to touch her, is it? For her to touch him back? For him to feel an unquenchable <em> ache </em>when he can’t have just that as the months slowly trickle into years. To feel her body against his would be… quite possibly the most blissful experience he could ever feel right about now.</p><p> </p><p>He’s no stranger to cybersex. He and Jo had done it before in their younger years as she would have to move to another space station to do her training. But the most they had been separated was more or less a month before he promptly went to the same station to be close with her. In the more perverse recesses of his mind he had figured that they’d… well, watch each other masturbate or <em> something. </em>Jo does have her own room, after all… </p><p> </p><p>Except that never happened, or could happen, cause apparently these video calls are recorded and he isn’t about to risk anything that could give him a heart attack later if someone who isn’t Jo decides to pry where they’re not supposed to. </p><p> </p><p>So he’s going to have to deal with his body practically <em> demanding </em>release by himself. Stupid body and his stupid addiction to his stupidly beautiful wife’s very existence…</p><p> </p><p>He twists his body on the couch, constantly trying to find a new position that would actually be comfortable. He thinks it’s mostly embarrassment that’s constantly making him move around and thus technically putting this off which is damn <em> stupid </em> because he’s an <em> adult. </em> And nearly thirty at that! It’s just— It’s just— <em> ugh. </em></p><p> </p><p>Rhys blows an annoyed breath. He knows the real reason, obviously, it’s something he’s been thinking nonstop ever since the thought of him actually feeling her embrace implanted itself in his head. </p><p> </p><p>He just wants to <em> feel </em> her, more than anything. If anything, he’d say that there is even… a modicum of guilt that festers within him about touching himself— Because what about <em> her, </em> what about <em> her </em>pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs, knowing that such a belief is pretty stupid as well. If there’s one thing Jo made loud and clear when they began becoming intimate with one another is that he shouldn't be ashamed of his simple desires. He hadn’t realized he had such a complex about it until after he became sexually active. </p><p> </p><p>He wills himself to breathe slowly, almost meditatively, and lays on his back. It’s a simple problem. It’s an <em> exceedingly </em>simple problem. </p><p> </p><p>He’s horny and wants to masturbate… And now Rhys has to resist the urge to cover his warm face with his hands.</p><p> </p><p>The shyness, the embarrassment, the lingering shame that battles with feelings of desire— This is exactly like his first time with Jo! </p><p> </p><p>She never failed at making him feel safe, wanted, unashamed, just— everything. His mind drifts to her nude form, the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. Her face smiling above him as she leaned over him. How she’d wrap her arms around him and he’d just lay there in her embrace as she played with his hair…</p><p> </p><p>Rhys can feel his cock twitch in his pants as his thoughts meanders to <em> those </em>types of memories. </p><p> </p><p>Like the time when they——-</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Rhys wasn’t a leader. He was content with being a follower, though he supposed the comfort he felt with having someone else essentially… <em> in charge... </em> extended to his sex life, too. Which is why after some time being intimate with each other, they had decided to introduce some new <em> aspects </em> to their nightly trysts. Not because they felt as though they needed to spice anything up, far from it, it was merely that it was a natural direction they both wanted to go towards.</p><p> </p><p>It first started with blindfolds and handcuffs.</p><p> </p><p><em> “You good?” </em> Jo’s voice whispered above him.</p><p> </p><p>He shifted, tugging slightly on the handcuffs that kept his hands above his head and bound on the bed frame. The blindfold over his eyes was soft, comfortable even, and he certainly had no complaints about lying on the bed naked.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Snug as a bug in a rug,” </em> he said with a small grin before adding, <em> “I’m more than good.” </em></p><p> </p><p>He could practically hear the smile in her voice.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Atta boy.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And <em> damn </em> did those words make him squirm. Something so benign, and yet the way she had basically purred… it was like she was hungry, hungry, <em> hungry. </em> The shyness hit him with thrice the effect and he vainly pressed his legs together to… what, cover himself? It was more coy than anything else, and Jo knew all his quirks to be well aware that he isn’t actually in any sort of discomfort. It was like she had paid him a particularly grand compliment, and he was responding with a blush and averted eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Fingertips ghosted his skin and he could feel the goosebumps form as his body twitched.</p><p> </p><p>And when he felt her <em> lips </em> against the nape of his neck… well. It was like her warmth seeped into his being. Like he was melting. Like he belonged to her <em> (he does), </em> and like she belonged to him <em> (she does). </em> A budding heat shared by the two of them that any time they part, no matter the reason, he would ache to be in her arms.</p><p> </p><p>Her hot breath curling against his skin and tender caress of her lips was enough to make him arch his back slightly, leaning into her. He felt her bare breasts against his chest. A hand ran through his hair, while another snakes around his waist before coming up to give his nipple the lightest of pinches. She had barely begun and yet his head was already spinning.</p><p> </p><p>Jo’s citrus perfume was intoxicating.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Mhm…ng—hehe...”  </em>He had been pursing his lips but when she pressed lingering kisses to his jaw, cheeks and clavicle he couldn’t suppress a soft set of giggles. He was a bit more ticklish than he’d like to admit.</p><p> </p><p>He felt as though he was in a heady daze, and a squeak escaped his lips as her teeth teased his nipple as her hand continued to skate around his body. The temporary loss of his sight amplified <em> everything. </em> Rhys was consistently amazed at how one touch of her lips could hitch his breath in such a way.</p><p> </p><p>It was blissful. All his cares seemed to drift away and be obliterated while she continued to simply explore and tease his body. </p><p> </p><p><em> “Such a wonderful body,” </em> she whispered against his skin, her fingernails now scraping against his side— not enough to outright scratch him but enough to give him the sort of slight sting he relishes in, something that makes his cock harden. <em> “But of course such a wonderful man would be such a feast to the eyes.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Rhys bit his lower lip, feeling further heat begin to assail his already warm cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Y-You’re such an incorrigible flirt sometimes…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “But you like me that way,” </em>she said, flicking his nipple while she leaned forward for her teeth to pinch the base of his neck.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Ah!” </em> His body tensed, though entirely with delight, at the surprise and squirmed beneath her. He begun peppering his chest and stomach with many quick kisses, she would have practically covered his body in marks if she had been wearing lipstick, and slowly— almost agonizingly so— she moves down… and down… and <em> down. </em></p><p> </p><p>Then she leaned back and Rhys twisted his body at the loss of her body warmth, and his accompanying whimper made a sound from the back of his throat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “J-Jo… please…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He heard a chuckle. <em> “Now that’s what I like to hear, Rhysie.” </em></p><p> </p><p>He both felt and heard the shift in the mattress, and then an undeniable <em> schlick </em>that he had become intimately familiar with. She’s inserting the egg vibrator inside of herself. Everything that's happening, and will happen, is all things they’ve discussed about hours before. They had both realized fairly quickly that he wasn’t really one for spontaneity in the bedroom— he usually liked knowing what was about to come.</p><p> </p><p>The anticipation for what was to come made him curl his toes.</p><p> </p><p>Fingernails slightly scratched his thighs, and she blew her breath against his cock, which then caused Rhys to buck his hips wantonly.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “So impatient. Why don’t you behave yourself a little?”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He thought he was going to drool when, in fact, he was already drooling. Lips quivering, his cock bounces as he bucks his hips again, already so desperate. Jo had become an expert in just playing him like a fiddle— he was just so <em> easy. </em> <br/><br/></p><p>Before he could linger on the sound of her spitting into her hands, her calloused hands gently took a hold of his cock and he whined. And of course, her tongue was almost enough to make him cum then and there.</p><p> </p><p>Jo’s wet tongue licked around the head of his penis, sending waves of electricity throughout his entire body. Ah, damn, the <em> tingles. </em> A guttural noise came out of him as he begin to breathe more heavily, and bucked his hips once more towards the pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Mhn… Y-You’re so good… J-Jo…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She kissed the side of his length. <em> “I thought flirting was my shtick,” </em>she joked.</p><p> </p><p><em> “You’re the greatest. F-Forever and ever…” </em>Ah, crap, he thinks he’s going to shrivel up from second hand embarrassment from a resoundingly lame comment.</p><p> </p><p>Or, well, he would feel that way ordinarily but he knows Jo likes those types of compliments. He’s rewarded with her tongue caressing his tip again, though this time with more fervour and passion. Her hand helped stimulate him by pumping up and down, her saliva helping prevent any painful and dry friction.</p><p> </p><p>She diligently traced her tongue along the sensitive frenulum of his penis. He began to feel the strands of her hair dance around his groin before she moved away from his cock to push her hair behind her shoulder, then return to wrap her lips around the tip. She pursed her lips to suck, moistening the head and making him see fucking <em> stars. </em></p><p> </p><p>The tightness of her mouth is enough to make him think it’s his hand; Jo also licks his shaft, attacking him with the sole intent of pleasuring him. The thought makes him smile almost deliriously, molten heat unfurling in his stomach as his fists clenched and unclenched in growing excitement.</p><p> </p><p><em> “I’m… mhm..” </em> She hollowed out her cheeks, then released him with a <em> pop. “Gonna suck every last drop right out of you.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Well, he certainly had no qualms about that.</p><p> </p><p>Jo clamped her mouth around him again, sucking aggressively and taking his entire length from base to tip.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Nggh…! Haah…!” </em> He moaned, throwing his head back and his lips remained parted as she unflinchingly continued her assault on his now <em> very </em>sensitive glans. The raw warmth of her soft and wet mouth engulfs his cock, and he began to writhe involuntarily. He felt the hand that has since released its grip on his penis begin to slither between his thighs, below his balls, against his perineum and then—</p><p> </p><p>His body jerked.</p><p> </p><p>Jo stopped everything, and he tried not to whine at how the rigorous pleasure had froze. <em> “How are you feeling?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Rhys swallowed. <em> “I’m good. It was just colder than I expected.” </em></p><p> </p><p>She chuckled. <em> “Yeah, that’s the lube. And, well, I am using my metal arm.” </em> When did she even put lube on her fingers, anyway? <em> “Tell me if it feels bad at any point.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Something else he knew was coming, though he was entirely too focused on Jo’s pleasuring to even remember it was coming until she began prodding at his entrance. It was the first time either of them was trying anything anal related, and he had made sure to clean himself thoroughly before everything. There was some slight nervousness, but he knew that with Jo, really anything could feel good.</p><p> </p><p>Dull pleasure attacks him as she wraps her lips around the head of his cock again, and this time the feeling of her fingertip rubbing against his hole does not stop. It increases, and just when he’s about to ask whether she’s having second thoughts about sticking it in, she pushes forward, and for the first in his life… Rhys had something going up his ass.</p><p> </p><p><em> “E-Eep!” </em> He practically panted, <em> “Agh… mhm… So that’s how it feels like… I-Interesting...” </em></p><p> </p><p>Jo’s blowjob had become more relaxed, and she lazily licked his length before saying, <em> “What a cute reaction. And that was only the tip.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Nghh, aah… M-My body’s just reacting to the touch of the woman I love… mghn… i-it’s only natural…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Ever the romantic, eh? Thanks for giving me your anal virginity, by the way. I’ll be sure to pop your cherry with love.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>At that, Rhys spluttered, lifting his head despite still not being able to see anything, but he could just imagine her smirking face. <em> “Oh my god Jo, don’t say it like that!” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hmm? Does that mean you don’t like it then? Should I take my finger out?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “E-Eh? Whuh… you’ve barely-went in… please don’t stop.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Uh huh.” </em>And damn, could he practically feel the mirth just dripping from her tone. What a tyrant!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Stop t-teasing me— fwagh?!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rhys wasn’t much for spontaneity… <em> however. </em></p><p> </p><p>There were times he thoroughly enjoyed it, and of course Jo would read him like an open book. She had pressed her finger deeper inside of him and he responded by lifting his hips upwards, voice croaking.</p><p> </p><p>With an almost expert like precision, Jo goes up to her finger’s second joint and curves it, stimulating both the front and back. Her movements, with how she goes back and forth, make it clear she was searching for something. Not that Rhys had much time to ruminate over that as he was too busy twisting and writhing his body from the growing pleasure. He tried to ignore the squelching noises that came from the lube being moved inside of him, his body growing in heat with each lewd noise that assaults his burning ears.</p><p> </p><p>Her free hand quickly, and firmly, kept him in place after a while.</p><p> </p><p><em> “What did I say about behaving? I’m exploring new frontiers here.” </em> She said playfully, <em> “A captain’s gotta be able to concentrate, you know.” </em></p><p> </p><p>He threw his head back with a loud groan. <em> “Arggh! Jooooo!” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Now where’s that new planet? Here? Here? Maybe over here?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Relentlessly, Jo constantly changes her angle and position, poking and prodding every inch of his inner walls as best she’s able. Despite her vigorous treatment, she was clearly mindful of not using too much strength and pressure while inside him. Each movement is punctuated by a shrill cry on his part, his breathing becoming more erratic, and intermittently she’d give his cock more attention with her tongue, and his handcuffs would clink as he pulls his arms.</p><p> </p><p>This is borderline <em> torture. </em></p><p> </p><p>But it’s so, <em> so </em> good.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Haven’t found it yet… maybe it’s deeper in…?” </em> Jo purred lowly.</p><p> </p><p>And how is she able to keep her composure when she got a vibrator up her cunt?! S-She was too powerful—!!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Nggh…! A-Ah!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She slowly pushed her finger further into him, soon reaching the knuckles. The warmth like no other floods his cock. He didn’t know it was possible, but apparently even more blood is rushing through the veins of his member now and he chokes on the air. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You’re squeezing down on me really tight. And your hips are shaking. Guess I must be doing something right, nice.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ voice became higher and higher, as well as hoarser, with every whine.</p><p> </p><p>And then she hooked her finger again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Agah—?! Mmhmm…!!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hmm. So your weak spot is there? Heh. Interesting.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Yeeeeeah…” </em> Great, now he feels completely drunk. Dreamy. Euphoric. <em> “Oh man— oh man, oh man, oh man, t-that is the spot.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Jo snickered, mischief filling her voice. <em> “I wonder what it would be like if I just stopped? I do like it when you’re desperate.” </em></p><p> </p><p>He quivered, bucking his hips in quick succession, belatedly realizing that a layer of sweat had formed on his skin. <em> “Ngh… hagh… If you stop now, I’m r-really going to lose it…!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Despite her words, she did not stop. Not in the slightest. Instead, she went faster, and faster, and <em> faster. </em>Incessant. Persistent. Borderline punishing. He was flying over the edge, back arching and tongue hanging out as the toe curling sensation attacked him tenfold. His balls tightened and all at once his throat felt impossibly dry as he opened his mouth in a soundless scream.</p><p> </p><p>A delighted <em> “Aha!” </em>came out of Jo, though it is punctuated by something raspy creeping in her voice, clearly beginning to become affected from the vibrator. Or she was always affected, but she had a habit of keeping her composure until he lost all of his. </p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ chest heaved as his cock throbbed from the untold elation he felt as he ejaculated. He could feel his semen shot against his stomach. It was warm, like the rest of his body, and his nostril flared as he began to quickly breathe through his nose in erratic intervals. His cock bounced and twitched as every last drop shot out of him, his muscles tightening and clenching from each splurt. Jo’s finger was still inside of him, and while not actively fucking him with an unrelentless pace, she was very much still stimulating him. She blew a breath against his whimpering cock and he squirmed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Ngh, ah! J-Jo!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Told you I like it when you’re desperate.” </em> A lick from her wet, pulsating tongue on his now spent dick made him writhe further. <em> “Really love it when you’re sensitive, Rhysie.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Unable to escape his sinfully sweet bonds he fruitlessly twisted his body as his wife snickered at his predicament, obviously getting off on the sight and the flood of his whimpers he was unable to keep locked behind his lips. His entire body trembled violently when she hooked her finger again, and from behind his blindfold he knew he was beginning to shed tears from the overstimulation.</p><p> </p><p>It was <em> divine. </em>Exactly what they both wanted, really, and her constant provocation against his prostate made him feel as though he was going to have a heart attack on the spot.</p><p> </p><p>And he knew he was going to be subjected to this for a while longer when he heard her chuckle deviously.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Do you know how much time I spent looking up how to stimulate a guy with his prostate? And on my work computer, too? As if I’d just stop now after landing on a goldmine, heh.” </em> There was something wicked creeping in her tone, <em> “You know what’s the best thing about having a robot arm? It never gets tired.” </em> <br/><br/></p><p>
  <em> “J-J-Jo!” </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Rhys bites into the pillow, hand shaking around his cock as he came just as vigorously as he did in the memory. His body is left shivering as the muscles in his abdomen tighten considerably, and he is briefly blinded by a vision of white that soon fades away.</p><p> </p><p>He lays there. He lays there for perhaps too long in the afterglow as he recovers, and eventually wipes his drool off his lips and chin. His fingers exit his asshole and he sighs heavily from the ecstasy he had finally allowed himself to indulge in after all this time. That’ll leave him content for long enough, he surmises, and begins to clean himself with a napkin.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders if Jo pleasures herself. He hopes she does indeed have that kind of privacy.</p><p> </p><p>Sighing again, he leans back, knowing that his hands will be his only intimate company for a good, long while. </p><p> </p><p>There is a lingering curse that comes with finishing, however, once the rose-tinted memory fades into reality.</p><p> </p><p>The thought of Jo’s body, just the whisper of his imagination, and he feels incapacitated. There are no thoughts, no focus, only desire and the pain of waiting.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The year becomes two years. Three years. Four. <em> Five. </em></p><p> </p><p>And then—</p><p> </p><p>“What do you think she’s gonna say?”</p><p> </p><p>“I dunno. Guess it’s kinda hard topping something like ‘That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,’ right?”</p><p> </p><p>“I read it was actually ‘That’s one small step for <em> a </em>man.’”</p><p> </p><p>“Imagine being misquoted for almost eight centuries. Wow.”</p><p> </p><p>Murmurs from the older students filter through the noise of gymnasium. Rhys focuses on some conversation, then focuses on another. It’s the only thing he <em> can </em>do, because if he weren’t he’d run a hole in the ground through endless pacing. Maybe have a couple of heart attacks in the process. Sprinkled on top with several nervous breakdowns and him chewing his nails so much none of them are left by the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Holy crap. Just breathe. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His breath seems to stutter in his lungs before he could get a proper inhale in. For a moment it feels as though a burning ball of air sears through his lungs before he lets it go with a harsh exhale, the sound drowned out by the noise of the students still filtering in the gymnasium and taking their seats as everyone excitedly gazes upon the projection of the news currently playing on the news.</p><p> </p><p>The space stations are ‘parked,’ for lack of a better word, near the entrance of a wormhole. It looks like an endless, pulsating, constantly rotating tunnel. Pure obsidian black. Vaguely terrifying and not really something he’d like to go through.</p><p> </p><p>At least, he doesn’t want to go through it until he sees Jo safely come out of it.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ throat constricts, and his bouncing leg only becomes faster and faster as he has to remind himself to breathe for what feels like the umpteenth time. It’s been <em> five fucking years </em> and this is the day she’s <em> coming home. </em>He could cry. He already has— on several occasions to the point he thinks he might have actually dried out his tear ducts. Not once during the time she’s gone has Jo ever neglected to wish him a happy birthday, or send a video message celebrating a holiday or their anniversary. Not once was she ever been a day late about those very message.</p><p> </p><p>She was always on time. Never failing to be a bundle of energy that he missed time and time again. Every time she messages him, and every time he thought of her, there was the affirmation each day, that their love is real no matter the miles between them.</p><p> </p><p>As the years passed by the ache dimmed but never vanished, always returning in quiet moments. He saw her everywhere he went— in the things they both love— in engineering, in memories, in silly things. Her aura never left him, beautiful and strong, making the pain all the worse, keeping the feelings so raw. A rawness that now threatens to swallow him whole.</p><p> </p><p>He’s <em> happy. </em>Of course he’s damn happy. He very nearly pissed himself when someone told him the date Jo and her crew would be coming home after finally confirming that T-142 was indeed habitable. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground when he was then told he could stand at the pier where he first saw her off. Front row seats again.</p><p> </p><p>But he declined that offer.</p><p> </p><p>He’s just— <em> overwhelmed. </em>To the point he knows he would absolutely be inconsolable if he were on that pier right now. Maybe even in the midst of a vomiting fit. </p><p> </p><p>The passage of time can dull many things, allow the brain to redirect, reinvest energy elsewhere. And Rhys invested those five years in his students. His eyes flick to where his class sits, and he can slowly, but surely, feel himself to calm. He’s still a trembling mess of a man, but it’s something.</p><p> </p><p>His students help ground him.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t want to work himself up to a point where he might need to be hospitalized when <em> Jo </em> is coming <em> home. </em> All eyes should be on her. He did not want to worry her. Everyone knows he’s married to <em> The </em>Joanna Callanach. He can’t count the amount of times someone clapped him on the shoulder with a wide smile reminding him that she was coming back. Commenting about how he must be ecstatic— he is,— how he must barely be able to contain himself— also correct. He responded in kind, with a beaming smile and a skip in his step. He tries to keep the spotlight on her by desperately keeping himself together.</p><p> </p><p>It’s just that waiting for her was a torment he was wholly unprepared for. He never knew that missing someone could take over every fibre of your being and wring you out like a wet sponge every day. It amazes Rhys to think; <em> how can I look so genuinely happy when I have practically crumbled inside? </em></p><p> </p><p>A part of him simply doesn’t believe this is the end. It is that disbelief that makes him increasingly nervous. No one would get it, he thinks. He doesn’t really get his own feelings either. </p><p> </p><p>What would happen when they held hands again? Would he feel a tingle? An electric spark? Would her warmth send shockwaves through his system?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he would faint. Honestly, at this point, he doesn’t think that would surprise him.</p><p> </p><p>So he tries to steady himself by looking up at the screen— even though it gives him a nauseating mixture of anticipation, excitement, nervousness and fear. More of his cohort continue to congratulate him and basically do their part to hype up the atmosphere. Someone mentions the famous ‘one step for man,’ line again, and Rhys finds himself with a grin playing on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>As everyone will be watching Jo’s ship coming through the wormhole, her voice will be broadcasted all over the space stations. She’s supposed to say something grand. Something else that will rival what was said when humans first stepped onto Earth’s moon. <em> “No pressure,” </em> she had joked. Apparently she initially tried writing a speech, before discarding the idea and deciding that something said in the spur of the moment would be better because it would be more genuine and relatable.</p><p> </p><p>She said that, but Rhys is pretty sure she still practiced something. His grip tightens around the small heart rate monitor, glancing down to see it more calm. A little while ago it was going quite quick and erratic. It’s been bouncing between fast and steady for some time now.</p><p> </p><p>He supposes he’s glad he’s not the only one that’s nervous. Maybe he’ll even tease her about it when he finally has his arms wrapped around her, and he knows that she’s <em> here </em>and here to stay.</p><p> </p><p>The voices begin to quiet down when the sound of the reporter begins narrating what’s happening, and doing their part of hyping everything up as well. Rhys doesn’t hear it, everything becoming distant static, as he stares at the projection of the wormhole. Everything fades into the distance, his throat becoming dry and hands trembling. Her ship hasn’t even made an appearance and yet he’s already feeling a layer of sweat stick to the back of his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>There are moments he’s about to bring his fingers to his mouth to chew on them nervously, but time and time again he resists the urge. His eyes quickly flick to his students staring up at the screen in awe, and when he feels himself slowly regain control of himself, he brings his gaze back to where it should be. His hands do not stop their trembling, but he knows they won’t until after he sees Jo in person.</p><p> </p><p>A dark circular blanket, contrasting with blacks and yellows, and the occasional white, which is shaped as a circle and sometimes a crescent. There are stars which dot the blanket in an intricate pattern surrounding the wormhole. With every second— which feels like hours— that pass, it feels as though there is an ominous and brittle silence that befalls everyone. Waiting, waiting, <em> waiting— </em></p><p> </p><p>There’s a flash, followed by excited chatter from the students, and the reporter continuing on with their rousing speech that Rhys doesn’t care to pay attention to. He squints his eyes, breath hitching, and when the projection does a close up on the Asphodelus his hands grip the heart rate monitor so tightly he thinks he might shatter it.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys does not even notice the tears beginning to slowly prickle at the corner of his eyes.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Amazement doesn't quite cover it. He feels like someone just took his spark of wonder and poured on kerosene. The smile he knows is beaming on the outside can't quite adequately reflect what he currently feels inside; it's like every neurone of Rhys’ brain is trying to fire in both directions at once— the best kind of paralysis.</p><p> </p><p>Then it hits him all at once again, the familiar sensation of being overwhelmed. He’s going to live on a new <em> planet. </em> Jo and him had discussed this at length when she first landed, of course, but it feels like this is the first time the fact is really beginning to sink in. A late reaction to be sure, but hey, in his defense he was a little but too focused on hoping for Jo’s safe return to give it much thought until now.</p><p> </p><p>He’s going to experience the <em> seasons. </em> And not the short artificial ones the stations tried but usually failed to give. The stations could sustain humanity indefinitely, but it was no secret that the space provided was certainly finite and beginning to reach its limit. What was the point of living on these endless floating bastions if he couldn't smell the aroma of a summer meadow or feel <em> real </em>rain upon his face? Now with that seed implanted in his thoughts, coupled with his seemingly unquenchable thirst for his wife’s very presence, he knows he simply can’t settle with living on this station anymore.</p><p> </p><p>He has to get to T-142 with her. And then make up a new name that isn’t just Earth-Two. Have a full <em> home </em>built instead of living in an apartment. Get that pet cat Jo always wanted but couldn’t because they were in limited supply and only the high-ups in charge of the stations had felines.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of static brings his thoughts to a screeching halt, and Rhys feels the tension begin to claw through his muscles as he just stared. She’s going to say something. Whatever it’ll be, it’s going to be recorded for centuries to come. Jo will already be famous forever, but this really will be the cherry on top. What is she going to say? Is she going to be slightly misquoted for years to come, too? Part of him feels like she would quite enjoy such a prospect.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys can feel some other gazes occasionally looking at him, but he doesn’t meet them, nor does he look down at the heart rate monitor. He breathes in heavily, throat bobbing and—</p><p> </p><p>Jo very audibly clears her throat, and Rhys’ body slackens as he chuckles softly. </p><p> </p><p>And as it ever is, her voice is music to his ears. She seems to use a pregnant pause to really drive up the anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>“...Ahem. I—”</p><p> </p><p>The blissful moment of him hearing her voice does not last longer than a few seconds, however.</p><p> </p><p>A blaring alarm broke the stillness inside the gymnasium, nearly making Rhys jump out of his skin and some of the students gasp and begin to murmur among one another. It takes him a moment to realize that the alarm isn’t coming from the gym,<em> it’s coming from Jo’s ship. </em></p><p> </p><p>“There’s an alert from the fuel tank!” There’s a tense voice from somewhere that Rhys assumes is behind Jo. There’s… a <em> spark </em> that comes out of the ship as he watches the screen with growing dread. </p><p> </p><p>Whatever relaxed atmosphere they had is gone as he hears movements and shuffling, knowing that Jo must be slipping into her space suit as she yells orders from behind her. “What’s the issue?”</p><p> </p><p>“There appears to be a fire—”</p><p> </p><p>A deafening crash rocks both the ship and the gym, with many students flinching and covering their ears. On the screen, the Asphodelus begins to engage in a violent spiral, and there’s another spark. And another. And another, all growing in intensity. </p><p> </p><p>Just the mere sight of it tore the breath from Rhys’ lungs. More alarms blare in the distance. The sickening noise of ruptured air hoses hissing out oxygen into the cabin assaults his ears, and Rhys’ lips quiver as he imagines what it must look. Wires swaying like a cluster of snakes who’s heads had been torn off. </p><p> </p><p>There’s another loud bang, and Jo yells, her voice louder and more authoritarian than he’s ever heard it.</p><p> </p><p>“Hang onto something and—”</p><p> </p><p>And then, static. The video of her ship also cuts out when the report quickly repeats ‘Cut the feed!’ in quick succession as it begins to get <em> torn apart </em>, and without a second thought Rhys stands suddenly to desperately and vainly cry out.</p><p> </p><p>“Jo!”</p><p> </p><p>Time seems to freeze, Rhys staggering as the video of Jo’s ship is replaced by a generic ‘We’ll be right back’ image and a jingle that makes him want to rip his ears off. It’s only after a few seconds does he realize he’s begun panting, and everyone— <em> everyone— </em> has their eyes on him. Terse. Hesitant. Pitying.</p><p> </p><p>His bowels suddenly churned.</p><p> </p><p>In that instant his skin becomes the pallor of a cadaver, his mouth hanging wide open and his eyes were as wide as they could stretch. The wetness dripping on down his cheeks and chin flow in quicker streams, and the longer he’s stared at, and the longer <em> he </em>stares at the empty, unforgiving screen he is sent reeling backwards. Fast, unsteady steps are punctuated by his hitched, stuttery breathing. Everything begins to become a blur, all colours merging into one another that makes his head begin to throb. </p><p> </p><p>A coworker calls out his name. The muttering of the students sound— <em> too fucking loud I need to get out here now now nownownow— </em></p><p> </p><p>Frantically and disorderly, Rhys sprints out the gymnasium. He heaves, a vague ringing in his ears makes him nearly trip over his feet. This is— His brain feels like it would swell beyond the capacity of his skull. His heart feels as if his blood had become tar as it struggled to keep a steady beat.</p><p> </p><p>With a sharp gasp, he quickly looks down at the monitor, nearly dropping it in the process, and in an instant the nausea swirls unrestrained in his empty stomach.</p><p> </p><p>There is no beat. It has flatlined.</p><p> </p><p>Like a tightrope finally snapping, Rhys screams out a choked sob as if the ferocity might bring the beating of Jo’s heart back; as if by the sheer force of his quickly overwhelming grief the news would be undone.</p><p> </p><p>“Jo! J-Jo…!”</p><p> </p><p>The tears fall thick and fast, and after whirling about, unable to look through his puffy eyes at the monitor any longer, he crumples to his knees.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t register the footfalls of his coworkers running towards him, nor does he hear their frantic voices.</p><p> </p><p>“R-Rhys, it’s okay— the reporter came back and said they managed to get to the escape pods—”</p><p> </p><p>His stomach contracts so violently that he thinks he’s about to lose consciousness. Pain gnaws on him like a toothless dog. He doesn’t, instead he despairingly stays awake as he heaves one more time, and vomits on the floor.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>If Rhys didn’t die from a surge of grief, he thinks he’ll just die from the embarrassment from having a complete breakdown in front of practically the entire student body. The next… seconds, minutes, hours…? …It was definitely a few hours, but they were all a blur, at some point he had dragged himself somewhere he doesn’t even remember. Streaming tears cleanse his red cheeks. Few droplets remain, forgetting their way as the path is swept from beneath them, consequently blurring his vision as he staggers forward, gripping his hands around someone’s shirt collar.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you <em> mean </em> she’s alright?! I saw her ship get torn apart! What’s going on?!” The salty release of tears calmly flows into his mouth so that he could taste his own… sorrow? No, that’s not quite it. Not anymore.</p><p> </p><p>“M-Mr. Callanach…” The person he’s harassing defensively lifts her hands, and as he <em> very </em>slowly begins to regain a semblance of coherence and sense, he notes that she must be a doctor, and he must be ranting and raving in a hospital. The doctor attempts to continue placating him. “From what we are aware of there was an explosion of flammable fuel vapours in the center fuel tank. The investigation is ongoing but the likely ignition source was a short circuit— there was improper maintenance of the internal wiring, I-I think…”</p><p> </p><p>The doctor blinks, lips twitching in a nervous smile as she seemingly realizes that that’s probably the last thing a man in the midst of grieving for what he thinks is a dead wife wants to hear, “All crew members managed to get to the escape pods! They are all in stable condition!”</p><p> </p><p>A hand clasps Rhys’ shoulder, and Hisashi’s voice quickly invades his ears. “D-Dude, chill out for a second. She’s alive, you should be happy—”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> am </em> happy!!” Rhys flails as he turns around, spitting with each utterance, “C-Can’t you tell these are tears of happiness!? Huh?! <em> Huuuuuuh?!” </em>No doubt his breath is rancid, because Hisashi waves his hand in front of his nose as he wrinkles his brows together.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, shit, what’s even happening with him? This surge of vulnerability, and the overarching embarrassment that comes with it, it’s like when he yelled at Jo for that stupid jetpack stunt. He <em> is </em>genuinely happy, though, but the grief he had felt when he thought she died does not wash away so easily. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t seen her yet, and because the little monitor is still flatlining, but just like when he was waiting in the gymnasium one thought rises above all else: He simply can’t believe this is all over. </p><p> </p><p>It’s like a trap springing shut - caught between opposing feelings and realities. This perilously long journey is coming to an end, and yet it feels like it isn’t. Jo is dead, but then she isn’t. He’s going to finally be able to feel her again, but he apparently can’t yet. Had he simply grown too used to her being gone and now that she’s back it just feels… exceptionally difficult to accept anything?</p><p> </p><p>Both realization and recognition flickers on Hisashi’s expression, and he reassuringly pats him on both shoulders. “Yeah, I get it. Lot’s happening. You’re just overwhelmed and <em> very </em>confused. It happens.”</p><p> </p><p>The mere affirmation he feels from his friend’s words is enough to make him feel just a little bit lighter.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys breathes in heavily, rubbing his face with his hands. “This is what I get for forgetting to take my anxiety meds when it’s the most important day of my life.”</p><p> </p><p>Hisashi snorts, and Rhys takes the opportunity to simply breathe. He tries to reach a near meditative state, rubbing his throbbing temples. The remnants of his breakdown doesn’t go away, obviously. It probably won’t for a while. Everything is too fast for a single goddamn day. <em> Far </em> too much emotion in the scant few hours that’s happened.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry about that,” He mutters after a few minutes, “...Guess I have to apologize to my coworkers too… They had to clean up my vomit…”</p><p> </p><p>He’s certain that Hisashi is about to make a joke about him needing to brush his teeth for at least an hour after that, but if there’s a higher power in the universe, it clearly isn’t done with him yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Captain Callanach, please—”</p><p> </p><p>“Like hell I’m just gonna be sitting around! Where is he? Someone said he was here!”</p><p> </p><p>There’s shuffling from around the corner, multiple footsteps, once of which he thinks is limping. Trying to keep his breathing steady turns into a moot attempt as he feels himself begin to get hit with another wave of anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, fuck, that was Jo’s voice and now he’s about to have another breakdown. Or faint. Whatever comes first. He sure hopes he doesn't get so excited he vomits again.</p><p> </p><p>Someone rounds the corner, and— and— the hair, the olive skin, the distinct lack of a robotic arm—</p><p> </p><p>Rhys sucks in a sliver of air, body tensing at the sight of her, having to take a step back to catch himself as he staggers.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re alive,” is his awestruck, not so clever observation. His throat bobs, his lips quivering when he sees there’s a cut on her forehead that’s still bleeding. Jo’s features— her beautiful, <em> beautiful </em> face— is suspended between surprise and joy. Seconds pass, Rhys’ brain taking her in, struggling to comprehend that she isn't one of the pictures he keeps beside their bed or in his pockets, that she is real. His brain can't formulate a thought, at least not one based in any language, and if he doesn’t touch her soon his atoms will tear themselves apart. How the ground between them is erased he'll never recall, but one moment they are apart and the next he nearly knocks her over by running into her, uncaring for everyone around them.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You asshole… you scared me,” Rhys whispers, a new surge of tears threatening to spill with a rawness and sincerity in his voice that makes <em> himself </em>choke, “After five years, and then I think I’ve lost you.”</p><p> </p><p>After a few seconds, he can feel her firm torso and the heart that beats within. Jo’s hand is folded around his back, drawing him in closer.  His entire body shivers at the initial contact, teeth gritting and eyes wounding tightly shut. It doesn’t feel real. Not yet. Her touch… it has become a thing that's alien, unfamiliar, unknown.</p><p> </p><p>Now, he feels something akin to fascination and wonder being able to feel her again. She’s so warm. He had forgotten that. The tears he spills now are not from either grief or happiness, rather it is a relief from the tension he has felt for the past five years. </p><p> </p><p>Jo pulls her hand back and wipes the tears with a calloused finger. Rhys sniffles when he looks her in the eyes, knowing that she is eating him with her eyes, running her hand through his hair, as if she too can't quite believe he’s not part of an almost forgotten dream. He wants to speak but all he can do is croak as he pleads, "Don't go, not again." </p><p> </p><p>Her mouth paints a soft smile and she nods once before folding him in her arm again. There’s mirth in her voice when she speaks.</p><p> </p><p>“Man, your breath stinks.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“What happened to your arm?” Rhys asks, head laying on Jo’s shoulder as they lay in the same bed together. She’s got a whole hospital room to herself— <em> “Perks of being captain,” </em> she said, and he’s getting the itching suspicion that she’s going to be using that quip for a lot of things— and after brushing his teeth for what felt like half an hour he wrapped his arms around her as they laid down and pointedly refuses to let her go.</p><p> </p><p>At least her forehead has since been bandaged.</p><p> </p><p>He knows that whenever they leave this room Hisashi and his coworkers are probably never going to let him forget about that overly sentimental display, but that’s okay. He’ll covet this moment of privacy. </p><p> </p><p>Jo glances down at where her robotic arm should be, not only a single dangling wire remains.</p><p> </p><p>“Had to get everyone into the escape pods, but it was jammed. Ripped my arm off pulling the door open. Do you know how much force it takes to rip off your damn metal arm trying to pry a door open?” she smirks, “Now I wonder, if I still had a normal arm, would I have been strong enough to save everyone? See, my jetpack idea had its merits.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, it certainly explains why the monitor flatlined since it was connected to her arm. He doesn’t want to think of what-if’s currently, so he distracts himself by idly wondering if he should go back to keeping his lucky bolt in his pocket. He supposes he really could use some more luck all things considered.</p><p> </p><p>His mind harkens back to what the doctor said, “Whoever was in charge of the maintenance for the wiring is going to be trouble, huh.”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs, “Who knows,” is her noncommittal reply. Clearly it’s not really something she wants to think of either, because it would mean needing to implicate her own crewmember, so Rhys doesn’t push it.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t believe this is real,” he murmurs, “It’s going to take me a week to fully understand that you’re really back… Then it’s going to take me another week for the fact we’re going to be moving to a new planet to fully sink in…”</p><p> </p><p>“And then we get our own house. Among other things.” Jo says before kissing the top of his head, whispering, “Already staked my claim on a plot of land. Nice little cliff, with a waterfall and everything. Real high class real estate. Really hoping I get that cat I asked for, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys smiles. His chest rises and falls against her body, their breaths in unison, and the warm blood that they could feel in each others' embrace. Jo rhythmically rubs his back while his eyelids begin to feel heavy. Whatever lethargy he feels is instantly erased as quickly as it comes, however, because he is very quickly reminded this is the first time he has his body basically pressed against someone else’s in the past <em> five years. </em></p><p> </p><p>He shifts— well, he actually squirms— and cranes his neck to look up at her only to see her staring at him. The two of them both gaze in each other's eyes longingly; not a word spoken by either of them. Rhys quickly becomes lost within the breathless paradise of Jo’s dreamy eyes and he can feel his face warm.</p><p> </p><p>Should he…? Should they…? <em> Here? </em></p><p> </p><p>Neither of them vocalize it, but it’s clear there are unspoken desires that are beginning to bubble to the surface. After everything, maybe initiating anything would be a bit <em> too </em> much… and she’s injured… still missing an arm… </p><p> </p><p>...But it has been five years, too… <em> And </em> he thought she died. That just makes him want it more.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, he lifts himself to be one his hands and knees on top of her, his jaw tensing the longer she keeps looking at him. There’s definitely something in her eyes now. If he had wanted to simply touch her before, the craving to go further makes him break out in a cold sweat. Rhys’ head swims, all previous thoughts stopped in their tracks. Now there is only one desire, one wish, and they both know it's just a matter of time before it happens.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve…” He swallows thickly, “You’ve worked so hard these past five years. You deserve a reward.” He begins to guide her hand to slither under his shirt, and the corner of her lips twitch upwards.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t gonna mention it if you didn’t. Glad to see we’re on the same page, Rhysie.” Her hand lazily moves and down his abs, causing him to shiver, and she waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And before you ask, the door is locked… Hey… can I bite you?”</p><p> </p><p>He has to stop himself from outright laughing, and lifts a single brow with an incredulous expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Of all things you want to do, you want to do that? Not that I mind… just curious as to why.”</p><p> </p><p>It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’s sunk her teeth in him, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Turns out five years of not being with you makes me really want to leave my mark on your stupidly clear skin. That just won’t do, Rhysie. Gotta let everyone know who you belong to, hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>The lilt in her voice is unmistakable and Rhys responds by licking his lips, trying to keep a whine from escaping him. Clearing his throat he says, “A-Ah… well. Can’t argue with that. Be my guest, Jo— <em> oof.” </em></p><p> </p><p>A huff comes out of him when she suddenly flips their positions. He hadn’t been expecting that considering her current state, but if there was one thing Jo was good at it was leaving him pleasantly surprised. With expert precision— not surprising since she’s done this a million times by now— she gets his shirt off of him. There is a heat in her eyes that makes him blush further, and every feeling of her fingers grazing on his bare skin feels amplified. </p><p> </p><p>Kind of like little electric shockwaves. Sometimes it makes his body twitch.</p><p> </p><p>She leans down, capturing his lips with hers. The tender touch they share makes the room around them disappear, he feels as if he’s floating in space and everything around him has turned to dust. Something about this feeling makes Rhys feel like everything is and will be okay. </p><p> </p><p>Somehow, after everything, she made sure to eat a peppermint. It makes him smile against her.</p><p> </p><p>With the kiss comes the smooth touch of her body, poised, just the right blend of relaxation and tension. He just savours the moment by staying obediently still, not wanting it to end. Her hair, which has grown to its original length, drapes over him, and when she leans back all he sees is her with dazed eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“...I-It’s not fair how you make me s-such an easy man, Jo…” He borderline whines when she pinches a nipple.</p><p> </p><p>She smirks. “We’re married. Of course you’re easy.” He closes his eyes in anticipation when she brings her face towards him again, grazing her teeth over his shoulder before adding some extra pressure to his pale skin. The resulting sting makes him gasp, and he already sounds so wanton and <em> needy— </em> which is exactly what he is. He needs this, more than anything. The realization of her touching him hits him with full force again and he nearly chokes.</p><p> </p><p>The reminder that she’s <em> here, </em> touching him, sharing her warmth, makes his own hands begin to wander her body. She’s just as firm as she ever was, with muscle in all the right places. He cups one of her breasts and the thought of this being a dream comes to the forefront of his mind again, before it is discarded when Jo’s bite becomes harder.</p><p> </p><p>It will certainly leave her mark, of that he is certain. </p><p> </p><p>And <em> that… </em> That makes him heave a wet hiccup, with tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>From the sound he makes, Jo lifts her head with a concerned look. “Wha— Or are you okay? Did I bite too hard?”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys shakes his head fitfully, “Ah, damn, n-no that’s not it at all,” he musters a wide smile, “Just really happy you’re here with me.”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles down at him, “The feeling is mutual, Rhysie.” Her nails begin clawing at his side, causing his back to arch slightly and the next words quickly come tumbling out of him as his mind continues to turn into mush.</p><p> </p><p>“P-Please… It’s been so long… I want… I <em> need </em> to taste you…”</p><p> </p><p>She throws her head back with a bark of laughter, the sound making him plaster a big, goofy smile on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I can guarantee you that that feeling is <em> also </em> mutual.”</p><p> </p><p>The words send a shiver down his spine, her words seizing hold of his heart, and the two of them react accordingly.</p><p> </p><p>The mattress shifts as she begins to shimmie out of her pants and Rhys does the same. While still in her underwear Jo moves so that her crotch is directly above his face, and she blows a hot breath against his cock.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, so when people back in the day spoke of heaven, this is what they must have meant.</p><p> </p><p>He runs his trembling fingers along Jo’s panty-clad vagina, eliciting some soft sighs of delight on her end. How pent up is she, he wonders. He certainly intends to put that tongue to good use. It may be out of practice, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let his wife out of this room without making her cum at least three times.</p><p> </p><p>He rubs her mound a few times while she gently coaxes his cock to slowly harden. The wet strip of cloth covering her crotch clings tightly to her body, revealing the contours of her lower lips. He brings both hands to spread her pussy apart. Jo runs her fingers up and down his shaft and he can feel the blood quickly flowing to his crotch, and a groan of pleasure escapes Rhys.</p><p> </p><p>“Your dick just twitched. How cute.”</p><p> </p><p>The compliment, silly as it is, makes him squirm. Hooking his fingers under the edge of her underwear, he yanks it aside, her pussy now on full display.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, crap, the fact this is the first time he’s even seeing this part of a woman over a substantial length of time also makes him squirm. But he’s a man on a mission—!! If he’s a captain of anything, he’s the captain of the <em> SS Make-Your-Wife-Cum!! </em></p><p> </p><p>With a spurt of energy, Rhys begins to tickle her entrance gently with the tip of his tongue.  Her cunt has a sweet scent. Just a whiff makes him feel dizzy, the smell is enough to heat up his entire body, like her just her cunt upon his mouth alone is enough to make him ejaculate <em> (it is) </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm… this is the best welcome home present...  Nnn. You haven’t lost your skill, heh.”</p><p> </p><p>No sooner does she playfully say that is his cock, now fully hard, gifted with the sensation of her tongue gently licking the top of penis. Every time Jo’s wet, soft tongue caresses his glans, the lingering heat it leaves behind seems to spread throughout his entire body. As Rhys is enveloped in that warm, comfortable cocoon of pleasure he basks in it while continuing to move his tongue up and down her cunt.</p><p> </p><p>Her lips fully wrap around the head of his cock and… though he is embarrassed to admit it… He has to resist the ridiculously large urge to cum then and there. Grunting, Rhys stretches his tongue out, tracing each fold of her labia with fervour. He intensifies his licking every time he hears Jo release any sort of noise,— pure bliss to his ears— sometimes pushing the tip into her entrance or rolling it around her clitoris to further stimulate her.</p><p> </p><p>He feels hot vaginal juices on his tongue, and the warmth of her mouth makes him feel like he’s floating. Her tongue runs unpredictably around his glans and shaft as she takes him deeper, causing his waist to tremble. Rhys can’t keep himself from grunting again from the pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>Jo begins to slowly move her head up and down, like she’s tentatively experimenting. Likely trying to regain her confidence in doing this sort of thing after so long like he is. Her lips slide along the length of his cock, her tongue and saliva teasingly tickling him. Every movement sends surges of pleasure shooting throughout his quivering body.</p><p> </p><p>When his tongue sinks into her vaginal opening, her hand slightly tightens its grip around his shaft, and she sucks him more aggressively. It makes him buck his hips.</p><p> </p><p>“Gh…!” Rhys moans against her cunt, and decides to reciprocate her assault by wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking her in turn. Jo falters for a moment, something he’ll certainly take pride in later, but before long she’s resuming her blowjob and making him falter for significantly longer and often. Jo dexterously teases his urethra and his abdominal muscles tenses in response.</p><p> </p><p>Dammit…! She’s just too good at this!!</p><p> </p><p>There’s lewd squelching noises that come from both their ministrations that are interlaced with their moans.</p><p> </p><p>Jo leans back slightly to take less of his cock, shifting to compact, faster movements of her head. Her lips move back and forth right over the sensitive neck of his dick, providing an indescribable sensation of pleasure that continues to motivate Rhys to lick and suckle at her sopping wet cunt.</p><p> </p><p>Before he can fully register her releasing his cock and spitting at her fingers, her lips return to his glans. She does not bob her head up and down this time as she decides to suck powerfully as if trying to coax the semen right out of him.</p><p> </p><p>“..Ngh…! J-Jo…!” His body shaking in pleasure, Rhys counterattacks with wide strokes, his tongue soon joined by his fingers entering her opening.</p><p> </p><p>He hears Jo practically giggle with glee. “Oh, Rhysie, are you <em> challenging </em> me?” Before he can make much of a response— kind of hard to when he’s trying to lick her to climax— he feels her hand move, and it feels like there’s a shockwave hitting his brain when the tip of her finger begins poking at his asshole.</p><p> </p><p>“Weeeeeell?” She says teasingly, “I already put plenty of spit on myself. It’s only fair I use my finger on you, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mph…!” He nods his consent while vigorously and excitedly licking her.</p><p> </p><p>“Now… hnnm… a flimsy human arm might be as good as a robot one… but I’ll make sure to make you see stars.” </p><p> </p><p>Not like she has to do a whole lot to achieve that, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Applying more pressure to his entrance, her finger slips right in, making her chortle. He half expects her to make a quip about him being loose, but instead she returns to sucking him off. His already wet, warm inner muscles coil around her finger. Jo matches the motion of him clenching down on her by slowly pushing deeper inside him. With the loss of her hand keeping his cock in place, she keeps her firmly around him. </p><p> </p><p>He’d splutter or squeal, but he keeps his focus solely on her pussy. The bliss brought to him by every movement of Jo’s mouth and finger begins to concentrate in a single point. Mustering his waning willpower to keep up with her ministrations, he furiously rubs her clitoris while delving his tongue as deep as he’s able in her.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls out for just a moment, then takes both her middle and ring finger and sinks them inside his quivering asshole. She pumps in and out of him and he, in turn, rhythmically squeezes his muscles. </p><p> </p><p>No longer exchanging words, the two of them devote all of their attention to delivering still greater pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>Jo’s fingers stretch his anus when she spreads them apart, not enough to cause him pain, but certainly enough to give him tremendous, spine-melting stimulation on top of everything else Rhys is currently experiencing. She brings her digits back together and wiggles them, as if groping around the depths of his rectum. </p><p> </p><p>He can feel her drool dribbling down his cock, and his own face is covered in her juices.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ twists his body and writhes when she begins moving more quickly and aggressively. She thrusts inside him, reaching her knuckles, and his body tingles with ecstasy creeping up his spine. The pressure of her fingers moving in and out assails him and before long the feeling swelling inside him is ready to burst. The world begins to flicker before his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>His moans begin to drip with desperation.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps sensing, and just generally being <em> very </em>good at what she does, Jo curves her finger to assault that sensitive bundle of nerves. His hips jerk and his licking and fingering become exceptionally sloppy. He can feel her flamp down on his tongue and finger, but unlike him she is able to stir inside him without slowing her pace down in the slightest.</p><p> </p><p>Her finger has been thrust in to the hilt, and she twists her wrist around to further grope and stimulate his nerves with all her might. In time with that, Rhys bends his spine back, practically lifting Jo off the mattress in the process as she laid on top his body.</p><p> </p><p>He can hear— and <em> feel— </em> her chuckle around his cock. With one last suck, she releases him from her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>It does not take long for husband and wife to orgasm in unison.</p><p> </p><p>A clear, sweet liquid gushes out of Jo’s vagina, and at the same time semen surges out of Rhys. Bodies quivering in euphoria, they dirty one another faces with their discharge. The culmination of finally ejaculating from her divine touch after so long, he genuinely thinks he’s going to just simply faint once he finishes. </p><p> </p><p>His body <em> does </em>indeed feel limp afterwards, and the aftershocks of both their orgasms make the two of them twitch spasmodically. </p><p> </p><p>“Ngh… haah…” He pants, body shivering violently when her fingers exit him. “...M-My head’s all fuzzy…”</p><p> </p><p>Sluggishly, Jo picks herself up, turning towards him while rubbing her face with her arm, but before giving his thigh a quick nip. “That’s the idea Rhysie. You feel good? I sure do.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods tiredly, “It was the… the best… because you did it.” With more obvious effort on his part, he also wipes his face, idly licking at his fingers as he does so. Yup. Drowning in lust or not, her vaginal fluid still tastes sweet.</p><p> </p><p>Though… it would seem they’re not done yet.</p><p> </p><p>Because Jo grinds her cunt against his still hard cock with a knowing smirk. “I can’t <em> not </em> have this bad boy in me after five years, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Damn… maybe being a captain also means being a mind reader… He <em> did </em> think about making her cum at least three times earlier… Inhaling heavily to further prepare himself, he matches her smirk with a soft grin. </p><p> </p><p>“As if I’d say no to that, Jo.” He blinks, a thought crossing his mind. “...Can I call you Josie? So we have… matching nicknames… sort of.”</p><p> </p><p>When she lifts a brow with a chortle, Rhys quickly feels his entire body become warmer than he ever thought possible. He clears his throat awkwardly in an attempt to hide the embarrassment, but that clearly amuses Jo further.</p><p> </p><p>“‘Course you can. Rhysie and Josie, hmm? You keep finding more ways to be adorable.”</p><p> </p><p>“P-Please... I’m over thirty now…”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts. “I’ll have you know that adorableness has no age limit.” She leans down to playfully poke at his cheeks as he squirms beneath her. “It’s your cuteness that keeps me eternally youthful, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Now it’s Rhys’ turn to snort. “You’re ridiculous.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you love it.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite what they literally just did moments ago, the comment makes his heart flutter because she’s absolutely right. Satisfied with the banter, Jo lifts her body slightly up, her hand reaching down to lean his cock to her entrance. In a moment of clarity he inhales sharply.</p><p> </p><p>“Relax,” she says, “I have an IUD. A captain’s always prepared.”</p><p> </p><p>“You and your captain nonsense! How many times are you going to m-mention that!”</p><p> </p><p>“As many times as I can, duh.”<br/><br/></p><p>He would respond, but the only noise that comes out of him is a strangled cry when his cock sinks into her. The inside of Jo’s vagina is astonishingly wet. The head of his cock pushes easily through her moist folds, quickly sliding deep inside her. She takes it in stride, a contented sigh coming out of her. </p><p> </p><p>Rhys’ hand mindlessly climbs on her thighs, and looks up at her, and he absolutely understands why the humans on earth believed in goddesses. With every moans that hisses from the back of his throat, the interior of her pussy pulses hotly against him. Even more vaginal fluid pours out of her; the smallest of movements send lewd squelching noises reverberating in the air. </p><p> </p><p>“Ahaa… Rhysie… you feel so, so good.” Jo says huskily, something that makes Rhys’ moans grow louder and faster. </p><p> </p><p>And then, in a movement that makes him throw his head back with a <em> squeal, </em> Jo violently thrusts her body forward, completely sheathing his cock. </p><p> </p><p>“Nggh...fwaaah—! J-J-Josie!” Back arching, Rhys’ shriek echoes in the room. He frantically covers his move with his hands, almost biting himself, in an effort to quiet himself. </p><p> </p><p>Jo continues moving her waist, grinding, and knocking his cock against the deepest part of her again, and again, and again. </p><p> </p><p>“Ngh! Mhm!”</p><p> </p><p>“You like it deep, huh?” She says with a wide smile, “You like it when I’m deep in you… And when you’re deep in me… nhn… Such a naughty boy.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods his head vigorously, “Y-Yeah…!” As his voice grows shriller yet, her vagina writhes around his cock. She contracts, clamping down firmly on his member.</p><p> </p><p>Jo continues her relentless assault on his already overly sensitive cock, urging him to another climax that’s coming incredibly quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“O-Oh… J-Jo—Josie, nhaah… I’m going to cum again—!”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m aware, Rhysie. That’s what I’m going for here.”</p><p> </p><p>His body tosses back and forth, oh god, he was too drunk on dopamines to even consider the idea that maybe having penetrative sex like this is going to just make him blackout from the sensitivity and overstimulation. He’s already came once! And now he’s going to cum again so soon! </p><p> </p><p>“Nghaa… you’re such a tyrant!” Rhys mutters through clenched teeth, though there is no ill intent behind his words. He’s suppressing a fit of laughter as he throws his head back once more. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey! I resent that, you know. I’m just trying to make you feel good because I love you, Rhysie.” Jo says in between her own laughter, and she leans down to graze her teeth around the spot where she bit him.</p><p> </p><p>To say she loves him now—!! <em> Ooooh, </em> she’s hitting his weak spot!</p><p> </p><p>As Jo bends backwards with a sound of pleasure, her pussy clenches around him even harder than before. The quivering of her flesh intensifies into near convulsive trembling. The stimulation’s so strong that Rhys does, indeed, end up seeing stars as he eyes roll back. </p><p> </p><p>Arms tightly embracing around her back, he finishes deep inside her. As if trying to wring every drop out of him, her vagina won’t stop twitching around his pulsating cock. </p><p> </p><p>He writhes, panting heavily, and barely able to see anything from his blurry vision. Drool, tears, sweat, and her pussy juices— what isn’t his face covered by at this point? His entire body feels slush, and he’s pretty sure he can’t move anything right now, too exhausted to be able to do much of anything. </p><p> </p><p>But, when she kisses him his brain feels like it’s on fire again and a new wave of warmth throughout his entire body. Their tongues caress one another’s, making his body shiver uncontrollably. Then, her weight comfortably settles limply against his, and his cock gradually softens while still being in her.</p><p> </p><p>“Great as usual, Rhysie.” There’s a hint of drowsiness in her tone, “So glad to finally have you back with me… mhm… I’m never letting you go this time.”</p><p> </p><p>He nuzzles against the top of her head. “...Yeah, the feeling is mutual. Love you, Josie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Love you too. Though next time, I’d rather have my second arm back first.”</p><p> </p><p>They lay there for a moment, breathing in unison and his body still yearning for her to keep touching him, forever and ever. His eyes slightly widen when he remembers something.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… what were you going to say when your ship came through the wormhole? Before you were, ah, interrupted.”</p><p> </p><p>She turns, her chin laying between his pecs as she looks at him coyly. She clears her throat the same way she did when was about to say whatever she was going to say, “Ahem. I love my husband. That is all.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhys opens his mouth, then promptly closes, then opens it again with a squeak. “Wha— huh?! You were going to say that? Broadcast that to every station? After finding a new planet?!”</p><p> </p><p>“You make it sound as if that’s a bad thing,” she flashes a toothy grin, “Everyone’s gotta know my love for you, Rhysie.”</p><p> </p><p>He can feel the heat growing in his cheeks and for a minute he thinks his face is on fire. He suddenly feels awkward, demure, and coy; even going as far as attempting to hide his rosy features behind his fingers. “...D-Damn, I’m flattered, Josie.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I was interrupted. So! Gotta make sure to basically proclaim that fact every time I speak to someone, you know? I’ve got five years of loving to catch up on.”</p><p> </p><p>And god, did that make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He cracks a smile, reciprocating her adoration by saying he loves her again.</p><p> </p><p>They share some soft chuckling, before gradually welcoming sleep to embrace them. It’s been a hard five years, and even harder single day all things considered. But the intimacy he just shared with Jo made it all worth it. </p><p> </p><p>And now, he looks forward to their future together. Damn, they’re getting their own <em> house. </em> And he can’t wait to see this planet for himself. Apparently they’re going to have an event to give it a new name. Maybe it <em> will </em> be renamed to Earth-Two.</p><p> </p><p>It’s going to be good. He can feel himself become energized from the growing excitement.</p><p> </p><p>This future, all these years ahead, he’s going to savour every second of it. To live every moment to the fullest with Jo by his side.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe time not being malleable isn’t actually so bad.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Feels like it's been forever since I wrote a loving couple, lol?? Hope it was sufficiently sweet enough for y'all. </p><p>I also have no clue if accents in general would realistically... be a thing of the past over time. I guess it depends which group of humans managed to get off earth before it went kaput. My thought process was that if what was left of humanity lived in these somewhat cramped space stations together for a couple of centuries, that everyone would eventually start sounding the same accent wise. I wonder what would happen to language, too. But hey, this story wasn't about the dystopian side of things, so I guess I'll just have to keep pondering about it.</p><p>If you like, please consider leaving a comment. They are my life source. See ya next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. To the Sea of Stars and Back (epilogue)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by Athris - Quick lil' epilogue for probably the most popular couple of this series lol. Just a husband and wife chilling and vibing.</p><p>Includes: Fade to black sex. I didn't feel like writing smut. Y'all know what their dynamic is like anyway.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to cover my eyes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I let you look around, Rhysie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In order to keep him centered, and to prevent himself from getting a tad too overwhelmed, Rhys moves his so-called lucky bolt from hand to hand. If he didn’t do so, he thinks he would be bouncing with each step so much he probably would have been jumping anyway. Or just straight up lunging. Instead, each step of his tentative and slow, both because of Jo gently guiding him and also due to him being blindfolded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are times he has to steady his breathing. To just… calm himself down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s difficult. He’s just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His whole body seems to buzz with electricity. He can feel it, little sparks just beneath his skin that makes a big, goofy smile play on his expression; and he knows his body trembles with anticipation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jo had wanted to keep the </span>
  <em>
    <span>world</span>
  </em>
  <span> a surprise for him, too, though such a reveal was obviously impossible unless he just stayed in his apartment for the year it took for their home to be built. He knows this planet has a pink sky, as opposed to the blue from Earth, and he’s already made himself well-acquainted with some of the flora and fauna. One thing he can’t get out of his head is this plant that </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span> like a big, juicy and ripe melon, but get too close, and its thorned roots will attack you and force you into the ground to smother you to death. It was something Jo and her team made special mention of when they first arrived on the planet and observed any potential dangers for their mission, so luckily there have been no fatalities regarding it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s even become a bit of a delicacy for food. It tastes quite sweet, often used as a dessert and it’s usually paired with a large herbaceous plant that secretes a warm syrup. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As for fauna, easily the most popular animal has been the Rellupian— that’s the common name, and they still keep the system of binomial Latin names for the scientific nomenclature humanity used back at Earth. The Rellupian is a small sized feathered creature with four legs but no wings. They’ve got claws which sheds, and people generally used them for necklaces and bracelets. It’s a friendly animal, with many comparing it to a long extinct bird called a Dodo. Except unlike the ill-fated bird, the Rellupian has quickly become a popular pet with how easily it can be domesticated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With these endlessly new and exciting flora and fauna, it’s a small wonder that the most popular career choice picked by students has been naturalist. And they’ve not even explored all the biomes of this planet yet!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Currently, the species that have been rescued from Earth remain in the farm stations. There’s been talk about making farmlands and introducing old species to this new planet, but consequently there’s already concern about human impact on the environment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, quite frankly, it’s not a topic Rhys finds himself very involved in. He’s fine with staying as a science teacher and not becoming any sort of activist or advocate. His main concern is getting a new home and school built and living as easy and simple life as possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sweet, slightly citrusy aroma wafts through the area, and Rhys takes a slow, deep inhale. His nose tingles with the smell he knows will become familiar. It’s already familiar, because he knows this is the spot where their new home has been built. This scent comes from the flowers, the most striking of which is named the Golden Rod— named so due to their striking yellow serrated petals. In addition to that, Rhys can hear the sounds of the small waterfall and river that will be directly next to their house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Prime real estate,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jo had said, and she certainly wasn’t wrong about that. A meadow with golden flowers that emanate pleasant aromas, with a waterfall and river that houses fish that glow in the dark when it's their mating season, all beneath a warm, pink sky? Prime real estate, indeed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alrighty Rhysie, prepare to get your socks knocked off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorts. “I’m sure that’s going to be a heck of an understatement.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Understatement? What, you’re gonna get more than just your socks knocked off?” He can practically hear her waggling her eyebrows suggestively, and with a slight squeeze on his bicep that already makes him breathless, she takes the blindfold off of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ta-da! No more apartments! We have a hoooooooooooouse!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first thing he sees is Jo’s wonderful, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful</span>
  </em>
  <span> face— There is a fraction of a moment between when her eyes smile and her mouth follows, and that anticipation is as exquisite a feeling as any he has ever felt. The spark in her eyes is more lovely a sight than anything he could catch a glimpse of, and that includes the house his gaze soon lands on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The culmination of everything makes him breathless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s had an inkling of what their home might look like. Jo’s been religiously reading up on different types of architecture, and he doesn’t mean to snoop around or anything, but it’s kind of hard when he walks into their room and her computer is on a webpage about adirondack architecture and Swiss chalets with the screen not hidden in the slightest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s rustic, an aesthetic Jo has always been partial to. Perhaps in another life she was a rugged hiker who camped in the middle of nowhere every other day in the week. The house is made of synthetic bark and granite fieldstones, and a balcony on the second floor with a deck railing that has multiple Celtic inspired patterns etched into the wood and metal. The walls are a greyish-green, a perfect complimentary colour for the pink sky, and the roof being black. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Considering the architecture is several centuries old at this point, he supposes it is ancient. Certainly old school, and nothing like the buildings they’re constructing for the future capital. But that’s what makes it </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect— </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s a home that screams </span>
  <em>
    <span>them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Their style, their aesthetic, their little slice of paradise. And that’s not taking into account the wonderful privacy of it all, not only is it not an apartment— which was literally the only thing Rhys has ever known— but it’s about a fifteen to twenty minute drive to the metropolis. The wonderful scenery and sounds of the surrounding nature, the calmness and serenity… it’s… it’s…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, don’t you worry, the reason the ground around it looks so barren is cause I’m gonna start a nice little garden. I already know what flowers and trees I want to plant, all natural stuff! I ain’t gonna get anything invasive. I’m still on the fence on whether we should get a fence. Heh, get it? See what I did there?” Jo’s exuberant voice is musical, and makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, geez, he hasn’t even noticed the garden, or lack thereof. The tips of Rhys’ fingers tremble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I made sure to get a big ol’ fireplace so we can have all the cuddles. Nothing like a warm drink and some crackling fire, hmm? And oh yeah, a second floor! When was the last time someone had a second floor? We’re gonna need more furniture! I wanted to have one room dedicated to your robotics, then we have a place for exercise for when it gets too cold, and we each have our own offices and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His lower lips quiver, and his knee buckles. Rhys has to take a small step back to stabilize himself, and his hand goes to his mouth as he begins to sniffle. His throat suddenly feels dry as the tears burst forth, his chest and shoulders heaving with each stuttered breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His entire body feels lighter. The giddiness and excitement soaks in his bones. He wants to savour this moment for eternity, even with the fat, wet tears streaming down his cheeks. They got a house. They’d done it. If life was a game, they had won it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Firm, yet gentle, arms envelope him. Jo’s body is a comforting anchor that keeps him grounded, preventing him from falling in too deep in his overwhelming emotions. He chokes out a gasp, a wide smile still splayed on his face as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O-Oh, Josie… it’s amazing...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears her chuckle softly, her hands reassuringly rub his back and shoulders. Her robotic arms grips her tighter than her other one, a tightness he relishes in. When she speaks, her voice wobbles similarly to his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… Just easy living from here on out, huh, Rhysie?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They remain embraced for what feels like multiple minutes. When they finally part, Rhys feels her absence as a cold wind, but that’s okay. Because she won’t be leaving like those long five years. She’s going to stay from now on, and he can keep her wrapped around him like a well-worn sweater for always, now and forever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are loving, and her customary grin explodes into a radiant smile that she had never worn before, not even as a small girl. Rhys matches her expression, and with tears still spilling from his eyes the two of them lean in for a kiss.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their home is instantly welcoming from the open door to the wide hallway. The floor is an old-fashioned parquet with a blend of deep homely browns and the walls are a soft beige that somehow feels warm and comforting. There’s a stair with a banister that twirls like tree branches, etched with more celtic themed symbols. There is indeed a large rounded fireplace in the middle of one of the rooms. The woodland and rustic hues certainly reminds Rhys of Irish and Scottish countryside… despite neither of them ever setting foot in those countries, and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty </span>
  </em>
  <span>sure the architecture of their house didn’t originate from there either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s read about Ireland and Scotland. Greece, too. Seen some pictures. Really, he’s more knowledgeable about Jo’s heritage than his own. He used to not have much interest in Earthen history but now… he is overcome with the desire to learn more about his ancient heritage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The house itself is empty, and he knows the next week or so will be spent moving everything in. And buying a bunch of new things, because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>significantly larger than their apartment. He already begins thinking of the posters and pictures he wants framed on the walls, and the shelves needed for an extensive library he always wished to have one day. Digital books are all well and good… but he much preferred having something physical in his hands— and so did a good portion of the folks in the space stations, so books always remained a bit of a novelty. Sometimes rare, and printing them never was a priority for the people who ran the stations, but they’re still a thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bounces on his feet, voice breathless. “You really know how to impress a guy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beside him, Jo chuckled. “Anything for my favourite chief engineer.” Her eyes narrowed playfully, “And I still got one more surprise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhys raises a brow when she brings over a box. The way she places it on the ground seems oddly gentle. Must be something fragile inside, though he couldn’t for the life of them even begin to guess what she might have inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now…” She starts slowly, clearly trying to build up a sense of anticipation, “I know we agreed that we don’t want children, but hear me out…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could even think of frowning, she enthusiastically lifts the lid to reveal a pair of twinkling green eyes. He notes the silky tabby fur, whiskers and peculiar lack of a tail. Then he finds himself with a completely blank mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got that kitten I wanted! That’s close enough to parenting, isn’t it? Hah! Do you know how rare these buggers are? Perks of being captain is getting the first pick of these fellas, heh. There’s been some talk about cloning pets so more people can have them. Anyway, this little girlie has gotta stay an indoor cat, alright? Cats were a mess on Earth’s environment, apparently. We ain’t having a repeat here! We’re gonna be responsible and all that. So yeah, keep her inside. Don’t worry though, I got a leash for her and everything. Plenty of toys to keep her busy. Hm, actually should I get her a sibling?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jo’s fast and excited voice continues on and Rhys does not take his eyes off the kitten that stares back at him curiously. The kitten holds her head like she's the born ruler of the universe, yet the wobble in her walk shows she isn't yet in full command of her own limbs. She mews with the same newness that a newborn baby cries, high pitched yet still soft, unable to project the volume more developed lungs can muster.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah… ah geez… that was freaking adorable. He already knows this little furball is going to be his biggest weakness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he’s going to have two weaknesses, because Jo reveals a </span>
  <em>
    <span>second </span>
  </em>
  <span>kitten from a box he didn’t even notice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sike! I already got her a sibling! From the same litter and I just couldn’t bring myself to separate them. Besides, now neither of them will be lonely when we’re both at work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhys kneels to give the two of them some scratching under their chins, and he can’t help but utter a series of </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘awww’</span>
  </em>
  <span>s every time one of them mewls. His heart has already been stolen! He feels all mushy and gooey inside!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got any names in mind?” He asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A long sheet of paper suddenly invades his field of vision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Glad you asked, Rhysie! I have narrowed the list down to 257 names…”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are few moments in Rhys’ life that have given him a near crippling amount of happiness like seeing their new house for the first time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some of the only memories that can really compete with them moving into their own house in terms of sheer jubilation is probably Jo’s proposal and their subsequent wedding. Oh, and her return from her mission, of course.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her proposal was exceedingly simple, yet done in a quintessentially Jo way.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The eyewear sat neatly upon Rhys’ face, and every now and then he reached forward to turn a small knob on the left side engineer goggles that gave him a zoomed in and out view of his work. It was a special type of apparatus made specifically for this sort of tinkering and repair work that involved small metal pieces. A robotic arm involves a lot of chunks and fragments and with each bolt and gear Rhys took his time cleaning it. It was a bit of an art, he supposed, with the swabbing and all that; making sure everything is squeaky clean and free of any faults.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quite enjoyed doing maintenance on Jo’s arm. Taking it apart, putting it back together again and watching her flex the fingers when it’s reattached to her shoulder— one of life’s small pleasures. There was something about it that was immensely satisfying to both do and watch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jo was lying on a couch and drank a cup of tea. Well, she drank at least five in what felt like the past thirty minutes, always going back to the kitchen to brew another cup. She was borderline pacing half the time, her constant stepping around only occasionally drowned out by the children running around in the apartment above them. Likely someone has a friend visiting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without taking his eyes off the gear he was cleaning, he casually voiced his question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s got you so antsy?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard flop back down on the couch. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ain’t got my other arm. Sometimes I think I’m about to grab something but then I remember you’re cleaning it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Behind the goggles he lifted a single questioning brow. Sure, there were times she might be a bit restless without her arm, but that was only ever because she has to stay put until he’s finished, and with her being a bundle of energy half the time she just wanted to move around constantly. Something about the way she paced felt different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m the one with anxiety here. You’re never this nervous.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He said jokingly, lip twitching in a small smirk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Scared I’m gonna break something?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Never! If there’s anyone who could keep it in tip top shape it’s you! Certainly better than me. I’d just let it collect dust.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>There was a pregnant pause as he swabbed another piece, and she made a noise from the back of her throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“...Just make sure you clean every nook and cranny. Every little bit. Don’t miss anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That got his attention. Stopping his work, Rhys lifted his goggles up from his eyes and onto his forehead. He glanced at Jo, who was looking at him but she soon averted her gaze and downed her new cup of tea in a quick series of gulps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...He narrowed his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jo. Are you hiding something?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She spluttered an awkward chuckle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You know I never hide anything from you, Rhysie.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now you’ve got me wondering whether you broke something.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>It certainly wouldn’t the first time something like that happened. Subtlety has never exactly been her strong suit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Outside, the synthetic light of the space station waned to emulate a setting sun. The children living above them kept running around— </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘it’s like a warzone,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jo liked to joke sometimes— and despite the disruption, the noise did nothing to distract him from how the warm glow of the light framed her face so well. Clearly, she caught on, and threw him a knowing grin, and he responded with another skeptical squinting of the eyes. She was hiding something. He was sure of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhys returned his attention to his workstation, though from time to time his mind would wander back to Jo’s behaviour. Not that he thought there was anything actually worth worrying about. Clearly she’s had a bit of a surprise for him. Was it near his birthday? Gosh, he’s so bad at keeping up with dates like that, though he always remembered Jo’s birthday. Was it a special day? He didn’t think so. Such a conundrum. It was even a bit exciting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finished cleaning the parts of the forearm and elbow, and he set the pieces neatly aside. He generally kept the fingers and hand for last due to how small some of the bits got. He took a hold of the upper arm to begin disassembling it, though he stopped when he heard a rattling noise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something is loose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> break something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jo!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He chastised, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You know it’s dangerous to let things get loose. No wonder you practically threw this thing at me this morning.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His wife played dumb, hand twirling in her long hair and gaze looking off to some random spot in the ceiling. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey I gave it to you pretty quickly, didn’t I? See? I’m plenty responsible and don’t keep arms that make weird noises attached to me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he supposed he could give her that much. Certainly a step up from that one time it emitted a smoky smell and he had to practically rip it off her to make sure the wires weren’t about short-circuit and start a fire. For being the smartest woman he knows, she could be pretty blasé about basic safety.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...Then again, this is the same person that lost her own arm in the first place with a poorly planned stunt with a jet-pack. He supposed everyone needed a flaw, even though Jo seemed pretty damn perfect to him all the time, arm related shenanigans notwithstanding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lightly shook the arm, and if he had a guess it’s probably a screw. Maybe one that connected to the scapula. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“How’d you even get this loose? I think I might be a bit impressed.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He knew that she had some astronaut training yesterday. Maybe she fell on her shoulder? But he doesn’t think he saw a bruise… that would be more concerning than the actual screw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhys began taking the arm apart, slowly and methodically. Though… this was different from usual. The slowness of which he generally took to disassemble anything was usually a calming endeavour. Kind of like meditation if he had to compare it to anything. But at that moment? Not so much— mainly because he could feel the stare of a certain someone just raking over him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After several seconds, he huffed and lifted his goggles from his eyes again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Something on your mind?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He asked, and Jo looked away and began to whistle in that way that told him she </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>had something on her mind. Several things, if he had to guess. She shook her head, saying a quick </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘nah’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he wondered if the damage to her arm might be more serious than he initially thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he put his goggles back on and began taking the arm apart more quickly, he could feel her gaze return to him. Ah, damn, this is gonna be like that one time she put a punch of confetti and glitter in the thing, and when he opened it everything flew out to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Glitter bomb’</span>
  </em>
  <span> she called it. Rhys </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t know how she even managed to fit all that stuff in her arm. Geez.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah—” </span>
  </em>
  <span>When he lifted it up to turn it around, something fell out, making a clinking noise when it fell from the table and onto the floor. He scooted the chair back, and when he reached down to pick what he thought was a wayward screw, he heard a series of shuffling that came from the couch and was soon behind him. He’d playfully roll his eyes at Jo pacing for the umpteenth time though… though the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ring</span>
  </em>
  <span> thoroughly distracts him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a light and delicate looking ring, pure silver and embossed with Triquetras. His first thought is how the heck this got stuck in her arm and where it came from, but then he was taken by the fact that this looked too big for her. It was something he focused on… quite a lot… about how it seemed like it would fit him…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhys sucked in a quick breath between his teeth. He could already feel himself perspire on his forehead from the growing anticipation, and his heartbeat rang in his eardrums; echoing like an empty cave. Time slowed when he turned his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He choked on the air, and one of his hands flew to his mouth, and nearly dropped the ring in the process. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jo’s smile is wobbly, obviously due to nerves, and she was down on one knee. She gestured to the ring, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Been an item for a while, and been living together for a good two years now. I say we make a pretty good match, Rhysie.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her voice trembled, though it was with love that made Rhys’ heart swell, and he thought he was about to burst from the overflowing warmth that flowed through him in that moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She blinked, her grin becoming lopsided. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, shit. I guess that was pretty lame. I had a much better speech planned out but, well… you know when you’re put on the spot you just forget everything you’ve ever thought of? Yeah, feeling like that right now.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She cleared her throat when he giggled giddily, and he couldn’t even think much of a coherent thought either— all he could do was laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Anyway… Ahem.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>It took her multiple tries to get her voice steady, and her eyes became noticeably moist, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Rhys Sinclair, would you do this reckless tyrant the honour of becoming my husband?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was something he had thought of in increasing frequency over the months. Rhys didn’t think himself a man that needed himself overly extravagant when it came to a proposal or wedding. He liked things simple. It was a topic that had been spoken about before, with Jo asserting pretty early on that she wanted to be the one to propose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, he’s thought about this moment before. Daydreamed it during countless occasions. But to have this question asked of him— blew out any expectations he could have ever had. He already knew he wanted to take her last name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time continued to stand still, breaths held, until his soulful yes and the joy that blossomed every year onwards.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Life is good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhys loves waking up in the morning and making breakfast for the two of them. He loves kissing Jo goodbye as the two of them depart for work. He loves going to work and seeing his students. The new school that has been built is incredible, and he considers it a second home. He loves it when she will occasionally send him photos of the sea of stars above whenever she goes back in space to do maintenance on the satellites.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He loves returning home, seldom needing to wait long for her to return as well. He loves kissing her hello. He loves putting harnesses on their cats, now fully grown, to go out for a walk. He loves hiking every other weekend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They chose the names Medb and Scáthach for the resident felines. Rhys later learned they’re Manx cats, with a naturally occurring mutation that shortens the tail. The breed is known as talented hunters, making them social and active. Just a complete bundle of energy, which is the perfect personality for Jo for the walks and hikes, and when they return they’re tranquil and calm, which is then perfect for Rhys. He greatly enjoys having them relax, stretch out and lay on his lap when they nap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lays on his back on a large couch, Medb and Scáthach curled up on his stomach and legs. The flames of the fireplace curl and sway, flicking this way and that, crackling as they burn the dry wood. Except it isn’t real fire. It’s a hologram that’s so lifelike he sometimes thinks he would burn if he were to touch it anyway. The fireplace still emits heat, though it’s with a ventilation system and electricity. The cats purr like those ancient dirty diesel engines they used to have back on Earth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s those small pleasures and felicitations relishes in day by day. Soon, the cats vacate his body, though not before digging their claws into his clothes when they do a quick round of kneading, and they’re replaced by Jo ‘staking her claim,’ as she says, by lying on top of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Found you,” more and more, she reminds him of a particularly affectionate cat. Especially when she purrs like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t aware I was hiding,” He can’t hide the smirk that forms. He’s got an inkling of what’s to come, and when she leans down to kiss him on the lips he can already feel his nerves become electrified. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for things to pick up from there. Not in the slightest. She knows what he likes. She knows how to push his buttons.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She moves from his lips to his jaw and neck, whispering sweet nothings in between each pecks. “You’re irresistible. One touch and I’m drunk on you, Rhysie. My hubby’s the best. I bet everyone is jealous I managed to snag such a catch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s got a habit of lauding him with compliments, but damn does it do wonders for his confidence. Rhys’ body squirms the more she moves her lips around his skin, sometimes licking, and sometimes biting hard enough he hisses in delight. Before he knows it, he’s arching his back against her. He’s already in a heady trance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want you bent over this couch,” she whispers hungrily and his first moan escapes his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-Yeah…?” He barely chokes out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m on a one woman mission. Getting you bent over every surface of this house. A captain’s gotta make the most of what she has.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her teeth playfully scratches his clavicle, his cock twitching in response from the welcome stimulation. He grunts roughly as he sluggishly gets into position, a bit difficult considering Jo seems intent on not moving from her spot on top of him for a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she does release him from her hold and he bends over the couch, she flexes her metal fingers, and he already knows those will soon be inside him. Her hips playfully grind against his, and she leans forward to give his ear a bite.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gotta get something bigger than my fingers one day, too. Put that cute ass of yours to work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are a lot of things Rhys loves. What Jo is implicating is one of them, and he shows his growing excitement and arousal by wiggling his rear end, which in turn earns him a mischievous smack. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah… Life is plenty good.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <strong>Bonus:</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe Earth-Two won the competition…” Rhys laments, his eyes looking over the holopad in disbelief, and he almost thought he misread the headline. But nope. This planet… is named Earth-Two now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jo, meanwhile, is having the time of her life and guffaws boisterously. Her hand scratches Medb’s throat, while Rhys is preoccupied with Scáthach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There were over 10,000 suggestions! I was so sure one of the Greek ones would win. Everyone names planets after the Greeks. Or Romans. Whatever, they’re basically the same thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, he was hoping something like Asteria or Hemera would win. Hyperion got pretty close, mainly due to an ancient novel recently coming back into popularity after it was rediscovered, but when it came to the final hours it was overtaken by Earth-Two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scrunches his face at his wife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did this! It was because you said you voted for that name so everyone went for it!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An impish grin etches its way onto Jo’s expression. “Everyone’s gotta follow the captain.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though he supposes it didn’t get one of the most… interested names. The names were mostly submitted by the general public, and seemingly someone else submitted ‘Earth-Two,’ considering another name on the list was ‘I Heart Rhysie,’ which is… well…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Earth was a wonderful planet!” Jo asserts, “We’re paying homage! Giving it the long overdue respect it deserved!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the grievances he has with the name, he finds himself chuckling softly. Sure, he’ll give her that much. Earth-Two is it then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad of a name. Maybe.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Jo's and Rhys' house looks a lil something like this:<br/>http://www.easternadirondack.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/3hybrid.jpg</p><p>And with that, this series will be going on hiatus until I feel like going back to it. There are already two stories on my mind I wanna write, which will be more porn focused and shorter like the first couple of chapters. But we'll if I actually stay true to my word when the time comes, lol. Prompts/requests won't be open for a while, so rip on that. </p><p>Seeya. Thanks for reading.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Cabin Fever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by a friend over discord - A park marshal and a receptionist get frisky in a winter cabin.</p><p>Includes: POV switching, Handjob, some biting, vaginal sex, bondage, gags/blindfolds, belting, pegging, some... uh... very interesting dialogue that was specifically requested I write (you'll know when you see it), possibly the goofiest opposites attract dynamic ever written.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Auburn Hills National Park is fictional. Canada, however, is indeed a place that exists.</p><p>Apologies to any Parks Canada's employees... Idk if this is how the system works at all, I'm just going over the requester told me to write so /shrug.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Perfect way to end the year is a tourist doing something stupid. God knows we had a ton of that this season. I think my top three incidents were someone doing meth in a damn tree and burning it down in the process, a family using pepper spray as bug spray, and some dumbass graffiting her Instagram handle over a bunch of rocks.” The sarcasm drips from Bree’s voice as she uses her shoulder to keep her cell phone next to her ear as she hastily packs her bags. It feels like she’s got at least fifty jackets and snow boots to load onto her ski-doo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her boyfriend’s voice chuckles softly from the phone. “Come on now, at least show some empathy for the bear spray people. Some say they can still hear their screams. Your constipated expression didn’t really help the situation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows Jesse well enough to know what he’s referring to. If she were looking at him, she’d give him a sardonic eyeroll. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Before you say it, no, I don’t have Resting-Bitch-Face. This is just the face I got.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And the face you got happens to be Resting-Bitch-Face.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, at least he doesn’t tell her to smile. That would probably annoy her more than some of the tourists. Not that she’s actually bothered by his playful quip. Her eyes apparently harbouring a permanently disdainful glare is something she’s since learned to laugh about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continue bantering as she packs, quickly giving her office a once over before she confirms she’s got everything she needs. She won’t miss this place, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> won’t miss the horrendous amount of paperwork in the filing cabinets. It’s nearly Christmas and that means </span>
  <em>
    <span>vacation</span>
  </em>
  <span> for her</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She’s got a couple of days of relaxing and she refuses to think about legal reports on her time off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, the moment she thinks about </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinking about it… she thinks about it. Specifically the dumbass defacing the environment with their stupid Instagram handle. Bree makes her annoyance known as she continues speaking with Jesse over the phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This idiot has the gall to call herself an artist, too. Psh. I’ve seen better shit in my niece’s art class. A couple hundred hours of community service is too lenient. I would have banned her from every park ever for life. Y’know, I find it hard not to lunge at somebody sometimes… But luckily by the grace of god for this moron I have wonderful self-control—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s cut off by a snort. “You think you have self-control? Huh. Wow, guess we’re finding out new things about ourselves that aren’t even true now.” Jesse’s voice tapers off in a boyish snicker, and it’s clear he’s trying to keep his voice soft lest he want to garner attention from the other receptionists around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Picking up her helmet, Bree’s lips twitch upwards. She’s got something in mind for that comment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’ll come later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For now she’ll keep talking. “Har har. This coming from the man who does his work during </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> vacation. If there’s anyone who needs self-control, it’s you. Learn to let go of your work! It’s bloody Christmas!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She practically feels him nodding as he goes </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘mhm,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> probably twirling a pen in his hand in the process. Being the only one in her office at her moment, Bree can be more playful with what she says, meanwhile Jesse keeps it more on the down low.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good thing all your self-control goes to your wardens,” Jesse says with mirth, “You train them well. Always teaching everyone the difference between bug spray and pepper spray. Speaking of— looks like a bunch of them are coming back. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite being on the phone, she nods. “Uh huh. Be there in thirty.” She ends the call, running a hand through her short brown hair, moving the fringe out of the way of her eyes so that she can wear the helmet comfortably. She’s got at least three layers of clothing on. Should be good for the current weather.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She briefly ruminates over the past interactions she’s had over this year. She’s certainly yelled at some people. She may have pursued legal action against some vandalizers with perhaps </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> much glee… But hey, she isn’t going to apologize for protecting nature.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree may be aggressive at times, but no one’s ever accused her of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her job. If someone’s doing anything illegal in the park she’s the first to descend upon them like the grim reaper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Protector of the park,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jesse likes to call her sometimes. She’s almost— </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost—</span>
  </em>
  <span> came close to punching people for littering before. Maybe she’s like that because she’s barely above five feet… so sometimes she gotta go the extra mile to be taken seriously. If she isn’t dealing with legal paperwork and the media, she’s keeping her wardens up to date with their training. And she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> good at keeping her wardens in tip top shape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The system's pretty simple: National Parks have park wardens which are the basic bitch police brigade (not that she would ever say that out loud) who have to basically act as recess teachers for babies because visitors are more often than not a special brand of stupid (something she does say out loud, but only to a select few when she’s venting). They all work under a park marshall who supervises them all. That’s where she comes in. She’s basically the principal of this elementary school, making sure that the ‘teachers’ are constantly reminding the ‘students’ not to feed the fucking bears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my god.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why are people always feeding the bears?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ironically enough, she had gotten this job to get away from people— one of Auburn Hills National Park’s biggest draws is how remote it is— but of course the entirety of her job is about dealing with people. Park wardens are fine. They’re kindred spirits most of the time. It’s the visitors that manage to consistently draw her ire. But despite her continual frustration at some people, she really wouldn’t trade this job for anything else. She does genuinely love it, she just doesn’t really show it often.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not when she’s got front row seats to sights like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree opens the door, lugging the bags outside, and she takes a deep, contented breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wintry sun is the brightness of the day, taking centre stage as the blooms just above the peaks of the mountains while it slowly begins to set. The sunshine and cold, the sparkle and the ice, somehow warm even when the north wind bites. Auburn Hills is named as such for its podzol and lichen-covered soil, red sandstone pits, granite mountains and towering red pines, all of which are now covered in a blanket of white. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Breath pale against the numbing air, she blinks slowly as the frost kisses her face. It does not take long for the snowflakes to lie heavy on her eyelashes, and soon she dons her helmet. Bree adores the snow, moreso when it is falling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She already knows this will be the kind of cold winter that encourages wearing many layers and it will go on for so long that everyone is probably going to forget what their neighbours look like under their toque and scarf. Yup, a typical Northern Canadian winter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crunch of snow beneath her boots is what she considers one the most satisfying noises for her ears. When Bree fires up the engines of her cherry pink ski-doo— she does have a not so secret fondness for all things pink— the sound reverberates around the forest and though the machine is designed for just this type of setting, it oddly juxtaposes with its surroundings. Everything else is silent, pristine, clean with the snow untouched, and here is the snowmobile; sounding like a motorbike revving on a sleepy suburban street.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bags secured to the ski-doo, she opens the throttle and begins to skip over the soft waves of white. She feels undying freedom whenever she takes out her snowmobile, or skis, or rock climbing gear… or really any of her gear, because just traversing between the trees and mountains is </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> time. Fuck, does it feel good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes being a park marshall can be frustrating. She does feel like she’s about to murder someone at times. It’s certainly a thankless job most of the time, but she likes to think she’s got a lot of karma to burn off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And besides, nature just has a knack at making everything she does worth it.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what’s your plans for the holidays?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse idly listens to his coworker’s conversation as they discuss their Christmas plans. Him and his fellow receptionists all don Santa hats, even though they’re in the midst of closing up the welcome centre for the next couple of days. It’s always a bit weird for him when they close the park for extended periods of time; he’s simply so used to watching the skiers and snowboarders as they leave their equipment outside and trudge in shaking off the snow in their heavy boots and snow gear, heading toward the cafeteria or coffee shop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the good days the only ear piercing noise he’d hear is excited children running up and down. On bad days it would be someone yelling at him because for some befuddling reason there are tourists who think he can just make bears and other wildlife just magically appear for their convenience.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, however, it’s just him and a small group of coworkers. Sure, they’re talking, but it still feels eerily quiet. Jesse sits at his polished lobby desk made of cherry-wood while the wardens and other receptionists laze around on the thick, luxuriant sofas that crowd around the flagstone fireplace, forming a semi-circle. The welcome centre is home, but not plain. A pair of mighty antlers adorned the mantle of the rustic lobby. The walls and floors are bathed in warm, autumnal colours. The cozy atmosphere is meant to be a welcome change from the remote, frigid forest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you’re still doing paperwork.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse blinks, and a glance upwards confirms the comment was directed at him. One of the wardens leans over the couch with a raised brow and cheeky grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lifts what’s in his hands to reveal the </span>
  <em>
    <span>essential</span>
  </em>
  <span> work he’s currently tasked with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m wrapping the presents we got from HQ for the staff around the park.” The gifts are small and modest, covered with recycled wrapping paper. For the environment, obviously. It has his own added touch, too, with colourful ribbons done up in various different types of bows and knots.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s something technically all receptionists should be doing, but he had insisted he’d do it since he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to make everything have a similar style because apparently he’s the only one that can actually tie a ribbon and make it look good. Plus, there’s just something about the repetitive motion he simply enjoys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s like a machine. Faster than the rest of us, hah. Makes tying up ribbons into an art form, really.” Another receptionist says, and he shrugs at the compliment. Another warden cranes her neck to eye what he’s doing and she whistles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pretty intricate knotwork you got going there. Where’d you learn that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse opens his mouth, only to clamp it immediately shut when certain… </span>
  <em>
    <span>images</span>
  </em>
  <span> suddenly insert themselves in the forefront of his mind. Specifically of the knots being crisscrossed around his… body, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the present… which he is… sometimes… for a certain someone…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He awkwardly clears his throat, already beginning to feel slight warmth on the tip of his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, the boy scouts…” He replies lamely, quickly returning to wrapping the presents, looking down to hide his flushed face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Real smooth,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks derisively.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though his coworkers either don’t notice or care. “And what’cha doing for Christmas?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That, at least, he can reply with his usual aloofness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh nothing much, maybe some work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as expected, the other receptionists respond with both shock and horror. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing work! And you’re not going to get paid for it on the holidays! You gotta loosen up, Jesse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got a backlog.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, c’mon, on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christmas?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse smiles to himself as he deftly ties a ribbon together in a knot that’s probably a bit too ornate looking for a simple present from corporate. “The best present I can give myself is less work for when I get back to the office.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never heard of someone being such a grinch to themselves!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The others chuckle among themselves and return to speaking with one another. It’s all harmless teasing he’s heard a million times before. He doesn’t really have anything beyond a professional relationship with most of his coworkers, but he enjoys their occasional quips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And besides, it’s not a lie, he does have a bit of backlog to file. Primarily because folks like to give some of their workload to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Permits? Jesse’s quick with them.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Someone would say.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Jesse can do that, he always does the reservations,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> another then says, followed by a,</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Hey, Jesse, can you help me with the filing?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And rinse and repeat for every week he’s in the office.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that he really minds. He kind of excels in doing whatever others call tedious paperwork. Enjoys it in the same way he likes wrapping presents, too. And despite the fact Bree sometimes worries he’s being a bit of a doormat— though in her own way, which generally involves her threatening to bash someone’s head in with a rock for his sake— he takes it in stride. He doesn’t think his coworkers are giving him undue work. Sometimes they take paperwork off his hands, too. He simply likes to call it </span>
  <em>
    <span>teamwork, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which, at times, seems to be a bit of a foreign concept to his girlfriend despite the fact she’s literally a team leader— and good at it, too!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a twitch on his lips at the thought of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrilling</span>
  </em>
  <span> it is to be a receptionist dating a park marshal in secret. A part of him can’t help but muse about how much trouble they’d possibly be in if they were found out. He always did like getting trouble…  though only when it came to decidedly different matters...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> threaten rock-head-bashing out loud. That’s mostly their pillow talk. What she does do is sometimes shadow the other receptionists and wardens and making sure they’re filling out and filing their paperwork accordingly. All professional-like. And it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> part of her job description for the most part. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard her swear in front of anyone either, despite her sailor’s tongue when it’s just the two of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whenever she is at the welcome centre to ‘check things out,’ he always sees the way she sneaks a glance at him. Her hardened </span>
  <em>
    <span>I-Am-A-Marshal</span>
  </em>
  <span> expression never fails to soften, as if making sure he’s alright and no one’s giving him any trouble in the office.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, he hears the telltale sound of a ski-doo gliding across the snow and coming to a stop. The other wardens noticeably straighten their backs as they stand to attention, with some patting down their uniforms of any imperfections.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree is dwarfed by pretty much everyone else in the room when she enters. It’s kind of cute, really, that this tiny ball of fury always commands authority whenever she is on the job. She’s both short </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> short-tempered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His girlfriend is the only one not in uniform, and when she takes her helmet off she flippantly waves at her wardens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re all off shift so your holiday technically started. Get outta here.” She casually remarks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s some whooping and exclaims of </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Merry Christmas’</span>
  </em>
  <span>s as the small herd of park employees scuffle out the welcome centre. If Jesse didn’t know any better, he’d think they’re all going to the nearest bar to get hammered. Except the nearest bar is several miles away, so, not sure what they’ll be doing for nightly celebrations. Rumour has it that last year they all went skiing naked, though Bree refuses to either confirm or deny it ever happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the receptionists turns towards him before exiting, “Ah, Jesse, you coming? We got enough space for one more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “I’ll lock up. Got some extra work to do, anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heh. Should’ve known. Well, see ya next year.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah yes, he’s already preparing himself for the endless stream of </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I haven’t seen you since last year!’</span>
  </em>
  <span> comments. He exchanges his goodbyes with them, and soon it’s only him and Bree inside the welcome centre. Outside, there is a pure black nothingness, and there’s frost already forming on the windows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He keeps wrapping the presents. Almost done now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he mostly does it to playfully ignore Bree’s presence as she sauntered over to his desk. In the swift movement she takes the Santa hat off his head, her fingertips then lazily playing with his dirty blond curly hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Today’s a man bun day, huh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smirks, tying one final knot with a ribbon. “You say it like you don’t like my man buns. Besides, it fit perfectly under my hat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He flicks his eyes upwards, feeling a slight warmth bloom within his chest. Perhaps many would consider Bree’s face as plain, what with her lack of make-up, eyes seemingly narrowed in a look of irritation, and boyish haircut; but Jesse always feels somehow magically drawn to those serious and silent features. He wouldn’t call her plain. He’d call her ruggish, and on days when he’s feeling especially sappy and romantic, he’d say she’s awe-inspiring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Following her pale blue eyes when she looks down, he looks at the present in his hands. He’s about to comment how they’re from HQ and he’ll have to mail them sometime tomorrow, but Bree hums lowly before he can.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That knot looks familiar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Again, he can feel his cheeks warm up. “Uh huh. Luckily everyone else was none the wiser.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree lifted a questioning brow, and while her expression remains steely there is amusement in her voice. “It would be just our luck that we’re found out because someone happened to notice that your knot tying skills are because of your… interests.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His forehead creased when he scrunches his brows together. “Someone recognizing these knots like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> would mean we’re not the only degenerates in this office. Lord, think of the reputation of the park if everyone here were into getting tied up and it got out. That would be a mess.” Jesse leans back, briefly wondering about the headlines if it became a scandal. Are there any rope puns that go with park puns?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re just knots.” He eventually mutters quietly, then he gives her a side glance when she continues to silently stare at him. “So, what’s on your mind, Bree?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My urine is clear but my head is not,” she deadpans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At least that means you’re hydrated.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leans forward with a squint and proceeds to point accusingly at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna drag you all the way out to the chalet for you to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>work.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s just gonna keep me up at night, keeps my head all stuffy at the thought of you working yourself to death because that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> something you’d do.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unable to resist the temptation, Jesse waggles his brows suggestively. “That won’t be the only way I keep you up at night.” Smiling at how the corner of her eye twitches, he continues, turning his head to look at the filing cabinets that some would call daunting, “I’ve got a backlog. And besides, I know you want to see those visitor surveys!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A calloused hand grabs hold of his chin and firmly brings his gaze back to her. Jesse blinks owlishly, swallowing thickly in the process, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bree really doesn’t have to do a lot to make him hot and bothered. If he were standing, he’d happily go to his knees in a heartbeat if she so much as gives him </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Look.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though he doubts they’ll be getting busy in the middle of the visitor centre. It’s not really either of their style. As such, she predictably continues on with the subject of his work ethic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Fine. As long as you still take some time off to relax. But I don’t want to see that little beaver logo anywhere during our time here. At the very least, don’t wear your uniform!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse lets out a mock gasp of offense, clutching at the badge on his shirt. “Our mascot has a name! I’ll have you know Parka being on my chest is essential to my efficiency as a Parks Canada employee.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snorts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Parka,’ psh, I still think that’s like naming an office cat ‘Officer Cat.’” Her iron grip on his chin does not lessen as she leans forward, eyes like a hawk, as her breath ghosts his lips. “No uniform. We got a whole damn chalet for ourselves for </span>
  <em>
    <span>three weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I’ll be damned if I don’t get you to just relax for at least a day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wets his lips, savouring the moment and his hands clenching on his lap. There’s really nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>sexy</span>
  </em>
  <span> about being told not to work, and yet, he finds his mind… wandering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Ma’am.” He whispers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The edge of her lips pushes up, scrunching one of her eyes up. Her lips parted a centimeter, both arrogant like she just tricked him and seductive like she’s about ravish him right here on his desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lets his chin go. “Good. Now, you remembered to pack your stuff? Let’s get your bags onto the ski-doo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if a spell had been broken, he’s decidedly not very interested in lewd things anymore, and eagerly gets up from his desk while nodding. “Yup yup. I’ll go get my stuff.” He smiles as he takes a quick look at the darkness outside, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Two National Park employees were last seen in the visitor centre, never to be heard from again… Their ski-doo was found on New Year’s, leading to a bizarre rabbit hole...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree rolls her eyes. “We’re not talking about your Missing 411 bullshit again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Awh, c’mon! It is my utmost hope that I mysteriously disappear in the woods. What do you think those youtubers will theorize about me? Do I have any deep dark secrets to scrounge up? Maybe they’re going to say I was taken by bigfoot?” He gasps dramatically, “What about... </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aliens?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can already see her eyes begin to glaze over at the mere mention of bigfoot, causing him to snicker slightly. Jokes on her, he fucking loves conspiracy theories, if only to laugh at them as they get progressively more and more ridiculous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m still hoping it’s aliens.” He says as she opens the door and juts her chin forward, waiting for him. “Do you think aliens appreciate Auburn Hills as much as we do? What if they’re the ones keeping bigfoot so elusive because they’re protecting them as an endangered species?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just get on the ski-doo, you goof.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lifts his hands up in a placating gesture, still smiling. “Alright, alright,” as he zips up his jacket and proceeds to drag his bags outside, he looks down as he towers over Bree. “Do you think people would theorize we eloped? A forbidden romance type deal? What if we </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> elope?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does not stop talking when Bree jokingly threatens to tape his mouth shut— in fact, that only motivates him to keep babbling on.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>If one were to look at the two of them out of uniform, they’d probably think Jesse is the park marshal and Bree is the receptionist. Well, maybe more so if she felt assed enough to actually put on any cosmetics, but she never does and has no intention on starting. Jesse, meanwhile, doesn’t have the… receptionist </span>
  <em>
    <span>aura</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him, when he’s not working, anyway. Towering at six feet two inches with a slim athletic build and a face… that she could only describe as </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘surfer dude who just hit some gnarly waves,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>most people would probably imagine him as someone who goes out to live in the wilderness because he doesn’t connect with city life or some shit only to die from eating the wrong mushrooms.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, well, that doesn’t exactly scream park marshal, either. Whatever. Point is, he doesn’t look like the typical receptionist. And yet, when he dons the uniform and puts on his work smile, he has the patience of a fucking saint. Bree doesn’t know how he does it— the way his friendly expression never falters when he says </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘How can I help you,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and answers dumb questions about— </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugh—</span>
  </em>
  <span> bigfoot or when he occasionally has to deal with verbal abuse from people unhappy with hunting restrictions or drunkards. Where do they even get the beer, anyway? Bree doesn’t think she’d be half as placating as he is with these people. Hell, she doubts she would give them the time of day most of the time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that’s why he’s at the front desk and she isn’t, she muses. He’s the perfect public relations type dude when he’s on shift even though he’s a bit of a goof when he isn’t working, and she decidedly is not... Even though she’s caught him watching Twitch streams on his phone during work hours at times. Maybe that’s why he has a backlog, she muses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite being polar opposites in their work ethics they’re definitely not opposites when it comes to being into one another both in and out the bedroom. And to think they initially found each other because they used the same dating app. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> she was planning on deleting the thing from her phone anyway because she figured being remote as she is, there wouldn’t be any point in keeping it. She wasn’t really into dating apps and neglected using her profile, anyway. But when she looked at it, she got a match, and on a whim she figured she could entertain the guy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her profile was exceedingly simple. Outlined some of the stuff she was into, kept her personal details as vague as possible, did not show her location, monogamous, physically fit, has no kids and doesn’t want any; that sort of thing. Even when in more populated areas she didn’t exactly attract a lot of attention because she’s usually so standoffish, nor does she consider herself much of a catch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she’s got a pretty bad habit at never answering texts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oops.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, there was something about Jesse that clicked with her. Mainly their interest in certain… proclivities. Clearly the two of them were initially interested in one thing primarily: Getting off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It started with them exchanging… nudes, always covering their faces. Then, gradually, their conversations got more serious. Personable, even though he had a habit of sending her stale memes she never quite understood. He took the first bite and revealed he was a receptionist at Auburn Hills National Park and she subsequently thought “</span>
  <em>
    <span>now hold on just a damn second”.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before meeting him she seldom went to the visitor centre, but then she did and with a selfie that actually showed his face she thought she was about to get a heart attack. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>utterly oblivious to her being mere metres away from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Small world, huh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A brief freak out later, she wondered if she should just stop talking to the guy and ghost him entirely. They don’t technically work together a whole ton… But still. That’s gotta be against the rules somewhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...But he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> her type. They had the same tastes in bed, dammit! And the desire to have a man beg for her to tie him up? To be allowed to smack </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>fuck him in the ass? To have an all round have a stud muffin as </span>
  <em>
    <span>hers?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Goddammit! So this is what they meant when you gotta take the bull by the horns, except in this case she’s taking the overly handsome receptionist by the silky shoulder-length hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That certainly outweighed whatever grievances she had about their potential arrangement. Clearly, a human’s innate need to fuck around was the strongest motivator in the world because </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the more she thought of it the more she wanted this man under her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she took a chance. She sent him one of her selfies and casually mentioned being the park marshal at the very same park as she stood in one of the doorways to a room only the park employees can go in. It wasn’t anything risque, considering they were both on the job even though their shifts were nearly over. Bree watched him like a hawk as he took note of his phone alerting him to a message, and he furtively looked around before taking a peek— hah, how cute! Fuck!— and she saw his eyes widen. A lot. And his lips parted. Oh yeah, that was a look of surprise if she’s ever seen it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he turned his head. Slowly. Like he was afraid of an encroaching cougar— Ah shit, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> older than him, too! By, like, five years! What’s the cut off before someone has reached cougar-dom, anyway?— and when he caught the barest hint of glance of her he did a quick double take to his phone. Looked at her. Then his phone. Then at her. Then his phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That went on for a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She raised a brow and gave him a nonchalant wave, the image of cool and collected despite the fact she was currently dying inside. She then turned and left, texting him later to meet up at one of the storage rooms to talk. She had no plans to do any covert fucking anywhere, wanting to genuinely just have a chat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was something they had to discuss thoroughly before they went any further. If he cut it off because of their professional relationship she wouldn’t blame him, and because she’s an adult she’d just let it go. No big deal. They’d just never reference it again and forget about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except he didn’t cut anything off. He kind of reminded her of a dog wagging its tail when he got in the storage room with her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, well… That was that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, what had started as something purely physical gradually evolved into something more. Some might even accuse her of being fond of the little twerp. Ah. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Feelings.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Always an inconvenience, but she couldn’t deny the ridiculously sweet sugary feeling she gets whenever she looks at him. At some point, she’s absolutely going to get a cavity from it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back in the present, Bree keeps thinking of one thing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chalet, chalet, chalet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>By ourselves for three weeks! Fuck yeah!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the chill crisp air her ski-doo rides smoothly over the snow. They’ll be at the chalet soon enough, and while it’s the middle of the evening and they’re both tired… she does privately hope they can start off their vacation by getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>frisky.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gotta do it under the guise they’re cuddling for warmth like they always do, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse’s long arms are wrapped around her waist as he leans over her back. If they weren’t both wearing helmets and currently riding on a snowmobile, he’d probably still be spouting off Missing 411 conspiracy nonsense. Small miracles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...She totally does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> enjoy listening to him go off on silly shit. Not even when quietly listens to him for hours on end and idly sips on a cup of hot chocolate. No siree. She’s too much of a skeptic with Resting-Bitch-Face to enjoy that so thoroughly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the light from the ski-doo’s headlights and their flashlights, the chalet comes into view. The home is next to a lake, though in the darkness they can’t see it now and so simply just hurry inside, though they can hear the gentle trickling sound of running water as well as birds perched on high branches. This building is usually for rent for tourists and closed for the winter, but she’s got it </span>
  <em>
    <span>allllllll</span>
  </em>
  <span> to themselves for the holidays. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s nothing overly fancy, with polished wooden floors and a red-tiled roof. The accommodations consist of even more wood: a tiny wooden table, wood bed frame, and a neat pile of chopped wood was stacked against the house. A queen sized woolen mattress and a pellet stove makes for an especially cozy evening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Exactly the type of thing outdoors-people like themselves enjoy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree rubs her hands quickly when they enter the building, before freeing herself from her helmet  and then quickly turning the pellet stove on. It takes about ten minutes to get the old thing working, and meanwhile Jesse unceremoniously flings their luggage inside. When he divests himself of some of the layers of his clothes, he unzips a bag and reveals some profiteroles packed in tupperware.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Made your favourite,” he says while enticingly showing the pastries at her, and she unconsciously licks her lips, already imagining the delectable sweetness. “Also wanna try my hand at making some croquembouche. You know, that big ol’ tower of choux pastry piled on top of each other. Guess I’ll make this place my own French bakery while we’re here, eh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, who would complain about that? Bree moves forward to take one of the profiteroles, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>cruelly</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jesse raises his hand so that it’s out of her reach. The grin that forms on his lips can only be described as shit-eating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The last time I made a batch you ate all of them in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>day.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He places the tupperware in a cabinet that is very much too high up for her to reach, and he makes a bit of a show by doing it. “You may say you have self-control but I’m going to actually help you get some.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She narrows her eyes, though her lips part when he digs through his bag to reveal tupperware with both homemade macarons and kouign-amanns. He places them on even higher cabinets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You ass!” Bree exclaims, “I didn’t set this vacation up for you to deny me my sweets!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waggles a sarcastic and admonishing finger at her, “Self-control. I’m doing this for your own health!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re just validating my inherent mistrust in humans.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse chuckles softly, tapping the tupperware with his hand before lazily flopping onto the couch, rustic like the rest of the cabin. Already, Bree is thinking about stacking chairs together to get those delectable pastries, though her thoughts are interrupted when the sound of her boyfriend patting his lap invades her ears. She looks at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me we came all the way here to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> cuddle,” his tongue darts out from between his lips, “The pellet stove does its job well enough, but I think we could use some warming up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a tug on her lips. Alright, fine, pastries are decidedly low on her priority list, especially when compared to Jesse’s embrace. He opens his arms wide when she perches herself on top of his thighs. His arms wrap around her torso, not too tight and not too loose. His dark eyes look at her, almost expectantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look so angry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree huffs. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” She’s been told even her smile could curdle milk. A part of her thinks Jesse likes it when she glares at him unintentionally. At least there’s someone out there that likes her general facial structure, she muses. Her arms slowly go around his neck, and she can already feel goosebumps form on what little skin is laid bare. Interesting. She wonders if there is an unspoken hunger that he can see in her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe she looks angry when she’s horny. That would be something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head, hand idly playing with the hair on the back of his head. “That was the second time you questioned my, by the way, </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredible</span>
  </em>
  <span> self-control. I have half a mind to put you over my knee for being so rude.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree’s well aware that’s an idea he’s partial to, considering they’ve done just that countless times before. It’s always an enticing prospect that never fails to arouse her…</span>
  <em>
    <span> buuuut…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But because I have self-control I </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that. See, I’m merciful, too. Just brimming with willpower over my own actions.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She does not miss the flash disappointment in his expression, which she takes as a victory. She lowers her voice to something husky, the hand in his hair beginning to clench into a tight fist around his locks. Now, whether or not she still looks pissed off she doesn’t know, but she does know she’s smirking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Though that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a gasp on his part— or an exhalation of excitement?— she shoves him so that he’s lying on his side. Obediently, he remains there, something that subsequently shoots a spark of desire to course through her blood, and she shifts so she lays behind him on the generously sized couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes when she spoons him, he likes to call her his little jetpack.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she’s not here for that right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree spits into her hands before basically attacking him with her touch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse hisses out a shuddering breath when her hands greedily and unabashedly slither across his body and under his shirt. He’s since changed out of his work uniform, and she wonders if her self-control would have been strong enough for her to resist just outright ripping the damn thing off if he was still wearing it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nnnh…” He shudders as she stimulates his nipples so lightly she barely touches them. He turns his head with reddened cheeks. “Already groping me and you didn’t even give me a kiss yet… nhm..”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a few moments of her deceptively soft and gentle massage, Jesse’s breathing grows more lively, and his nipples start to harden beneath her fingers. Her other hand slowly moves down his torso, over his navel, and edges beneath the edge of his pants. Jesse’s body instantly goes taut in her arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll give you plenty of kisses in a bit.” She whispers hungrily, her breath blowing over the nape of his neck and moving some trends of his hair. Then, she starts with her first kiss, while not on his lips, it does make him squeak when her tongue touches his warm skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body does not stay still for long when she reaches further into his pants. He squirms, his ass beginning to grind against her with his movements. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. You good?” She says after a slow, languid lick on his reddening neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice gradually becomes more high-pitched with each utterance, and when Bree lifts her head to look over his shoulder, she takes note of how he grips the couch cushions with a white knuckle grip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Good boy. He’s so used to this that he knows he can’t touch anything without her giving him permission.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m— I’m fine…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree smiles against his skin. The tips of her fingers graze the head of his cock. When her teeth begin to tease him, his member swells rapidly, and she steadily rubs his glans with her hand. Sweat had already begun to form on the palm of her hand before she started doing this along with her spit, making friction less of an issue for the two of them. She rubs the ridge of his cock that’s just behind the tip, gently squeezing him now and then so that he doesn’t slip from her grasp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Ah… Dang it, y-you only have self-control when we do this… A-Always so slow… and teasing…” He says with an impatient huff.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s the idea,” it’s monotonous movement, sure, but she finds going slow is generally the better way to start this. It helps Jesse to better cope with the slowly creeping stimulation and pleasure, with the initial tension in his body already melting away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree digs a finger against his hardened nipple, massaging him far more roughly than before as she pinches and twists lightly. The hand on his cock remains slow. “It’s no problem, is it? I know you enjoy getting pushed around at times like this. Teased. Edged. Whatever you want to call it.” She blows a hot breath against his ear, “But you’re a good boy who stays still and takes it. Just the way I like it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that, his cock twitches against the palm of her hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a— ngh!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She squeezes down on his nipple and cock at the same moment, deliberately interrupting his attempt to speak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re really warm down there,” she comments idly, “Probably warmer than that blush on your face.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Funnily enough, if he were the one fingering her his fingers would be glistening with her fluids. She’s already </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> turned on, and she wonders if he has an iota of an idea of how much his squirming body and whimpering, ragged breaths greatly arouses her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rubs her thumb over his urethra, then begins pumping her hand over his cock, finally starting to give him a proper handjob. The hand on his defenseless nipple gives him a moment a reprieve by sliding upwards, soon prodding at his plump lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Suck,” is all she commands before she returns to attacking the base of his neck with a flutter of kisses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> does his slather her fingers with a healthy dosing of saliva. He practically deepthroats her, his lack of a gag reflex giving him ample opportunity to take her down to her knuckles. The warmth of his mouth and spit sends a shiver down her spine, which in turn makes her bite him with a little more pressure than usual. His shoulders jerk in response, though he does not slow down as his tongue goes up and down her hand like a particularly excitable dog. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And because he’s a filthy, filthy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span> boy, he makes sure to make the lewd sucking sounds as loud as his can, just further making her cunt clench down on nothing but desire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree makes a “V” shape with her thumb and pointer finger to support the base of his cock and adds slight downward pressure. Then, she moves her up and down, using the rest of her fingers to create a delicate touch as she glides up and down his throbbing shaft. She pays extra attention to his frenulum when she reaches it, teasing it by rubbing and caressing it, then goes back down to the base. His hips buck at the stimulation, and it’s clear he’s making a conscious effort to not outright clamp his teeth down on the fingers in his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She continues giving special attention to his neck, suckling and biting and bruising his skin. She can feel the drool dripping from his chin as she begins to fuck his mouth with her hand— moving her wrist back and forth at a steady pace and delving deep in the back of his wet throat. She’s cognizant of her nails, making sure not to scratch him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, the hand around his cock continues to work rapidly, stroking him quickly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ahn… ngh… nnn….” He moans in tandem every time she thrusts in him, and once she’s decided that she’s got enough drool on her she takes her fingers out entirely. Before he can make any snarky comment about the whole situation, she puts her other hand down his pants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She continues to stimulate him in his most sensitive area, though this time with two hands. The one that had just been fucking his mouth fondles his heavy balls. Bree’s own breathing begins to grow ragged the more Jesse chokes on the air and shivers. She moves her body back and forth, timing the thrusts of her hips by his breathing, as if she were fucking him. Once she settles in a steady rhythm, she bites him again, harder than before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That, in turn, causes Jesse to bite into the cushion of the couch, his breathing taken on a sharp, ragged edge. “Mmhph!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She practically feels the blood rushing through his cock as she grips him tighter. It pulses rapidly, and she nips on his earlobe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s next, Jesse?” She breathes harshly, “Wanna keep my fingers? Maybe some tongue play? Or do you wanna be covered in something warmer than spit?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stutters out a gasp, body squirming, “Wha— What type of question is that…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. Well, if you want me to keep using my hand until you finish—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngh— No! I just— nngh… Ah!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snickers when his words become a strangled noise. She had flicked her wrist, her thumb going over his urethra again, and the hand on his balls gripping just slightly tighter. From what she can feel, she knows that his veiny cock is already beginning to leak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spit it out, Jesse,” she whispers— well, she mostly growls out her words— and another wave of desire makes her cunt fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>ache.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“J-J-Just… are you s-satisfied, too…? Bree?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That gives her pause.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squirms again, turning his head slightly in an attempt to look at her. “You’re just so f-focused on me… just making sure you’re satisfied too… since... Ah… I’m n-not touching you…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Almost instantaneously she can feel her face warmth, a bout of bashfulness overtaking her despite the fact she’s got both hands on his weeping cock. Her cheeks ablaze, she clears her throat, and there’s a sheepish smile tugs on her lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pft. Are you implying I haven’t been enjoying myself? I’m fine,” she kisses his neck, her touch as light as a feather, “More than fine. Thanks for your consideration, you goof.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just want you to feel good…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Goddammit. That’s an unfair attack on his part— making her feel all mushy. She rubs her thighs together bashfully. Bree can feel the heat spread to her shoulders, and her stomach becomes a dome because of the butterflies that always remain when she’s near Jesse. Her boyfriend stares at her expectantly through his eyelashes, cheeks bright red like hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She continues her movements around his cock, slower this time, though it still makes him squirm against her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>great,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she grunts, her body not wanting his cock just in her hands anymore, “Now answer my question.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bites his bottom lip. “Nghn… god, f-fuck, can you just ride me already?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, that is certainly something she can grant him. She promptly pushes his body down so that he’s lying on his back and she climbs on top of him. Bree quickly shimmies out of her pants and underwear, and perhaps if this weren’t the first time they were doing this after a while she might have gone slower and given him a bit of a show by stripping, but instead she’s hasty and energetic. Not that Jesse seems to mind, if him licking his lips is anything to go by. His cock bounces, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lifts a brow when she sees his fingers twitch noticeably, and his eyes become half-lidded. Someone’s getting antsy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree smirks. “Just because you’ve been so obedient this whole time, I’ll let you touch me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse does just that, though slowly and still lying flat on his back. His hands go on her thighs and then under her shirt, his touch both bashful and greedy at the same time. When she rubs her entrance against the head of his cock he makes a sound that’s a mixture between a whine and a grunt. Idly, she notes there’s a string of drool going down his chin, and a layer of sweat sticking onto his tanned skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eyes are looking a little misty there, Jesse,” Bree says, moving her hips in a slow circular motion, continuing to tease his cock and not quite allowing him inside of her just yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives her a shaky smile. “K-Kinda hard not to be dazed when you’re rubbing me like that…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Cause getting you all hot and bothered is what sustains me in life, you know,” she smirks, “That blushing face with those wanton eyes and voice? Damn, I think that’s what the French call magnifique.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A low rumbling came from the back of Jesse’s throat as he chuckled lowly. “You’re so shit at being romantic sometimes— ah!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How nice of him to give her the perfect opportunity to cut him off again. Slowly lowering her waist, she grabs his member and directs into her entrance. She starts off by vigorously rubbing his cock against her labia, her breathing becoming heated and Jesse’s hands trembling as he haphazardly reaches forward to fondle her breasts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being as turned on as she is, it does not take long for her vaginal fluid to coat his cock a generous amount. Finally, she properly aligns his penis to her opening, and little by little, it slips into her. Bree sighs contentedly at the welcome intrusion, a warmth blooming inside of her at feeling so </span>
  <em>
    <span>full.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It fits perfectly within her folds, like his penis was made specifically for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The warmth is amazing, but not quite enough. Placing both hands on either side of Jesse’s head, she begins moving her hips while staring directly into his eyes unflinchingly. The grip on her breasts tighten as she does so, but not enough to hurt, and his throat bobs from the stimulation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her pussy is drenched. Every movement, no matter how small, makes her feel the heat that swells in Jesse’s cock. And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>noises…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Well, they’re their own ballpark. Lewd squelching sounds bounce off the cabin’s walls, causing a fire to flare from deep within. It’s a primitive desire that fills her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree wants Jesse to connect with her even deeper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She increases the pace of her movements, launching an all out assault.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngh… haah… B-Bree…” He whines, a symphony for her ears only. It makes her shudder out a breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Again and again, his trembling penis travels from her warm inner depths to her entrance. She can feel the perspiration form on her brow, and her nipples harden beneath the palm of his hands. She grits her teeth when she says another command.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stimulate my clit. Now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-Yeah… Yes, Ma’am…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her pussy squeezes down on him when his thumb makes its way to her clitoris, and he rubs it both gently and quickly. Jesse’s body writhes when her grinding becomes punctuated with speedier movements, and she all but slams her hips down against his. Every time she does so, his face contorts in pleasure. Her pussy contracts tightly, clamping around his cock as she grants him further access into her depths and carefully matches her motions with his reactions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmgnh… Ah! Fuck, Breeeee—!!” His chest heaves every time she slams against him, their intercourse becoming more bestial and aggressive by the second. Bree grins wolfishly when he arches his back like a bow, his expression the very picture of desperation. Her moist walls entwine themselves around his member.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His gasps grow even louder than before, and while his thumb falters for a moment, he steadfastly continues to rub her clit obediently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree throws her head back in ecstasy, coming close to the brink of orgasm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aaah… nggh—! Ah! Haah!” Jesse moans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every passionate, gasping moan that leaves his mouth spurs Bree to move even faster. Feeling that the two of them are both quickly reaching their limits, she grabs the wrists of both of his hands and pins it above his head. Her toes curl, feeling sparks practically fly through her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lifting her waist up, Bree almost completely unsheathes his cock, only to snap her hips back in one final assault, savouring Jesse’s blissful scream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body trembles violently as his semen pours inside her burning hot pussy. Bree clamps down on him as her own body shudders, relishing in Jesse’s moaning, his trembling, his panting, his chest, his face, his— </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Him finishing inside her like this— </span>
  <em>
    <span>god.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It feels so fucking good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Overwhelmed by his massive orgasm, Jesse trembles like a leaf beneath her. Both his cock and her walls throb. Semen runs slowly out of her pussy and she exhales between her clenched teeth. Slowly, she regains her composure as the orgasm subsides, though her body still twitches from the aftershocks. So does Jesse’s. The two of them bask in the afterglow for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When everything comes back into focus, she sees tears in the corner of his eyes. His lips quiver, and his body remains completely limp under her. Overcome with affection for him, she gently reaches forward to wipe some of his hair out of his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm… nnn…” His voice falters, but he manages to get his words out after a second try.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“K-Kiss…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah. Right. They went through all that and haven’t done what everyone would call the fucking basics for this type of thing. Still… with that cute little face of his, she can’t help but become awashed with the desire to tease him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” She asks coyly, and he wriggles his body with a pout.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm… c’mon… after all that the least you could do is finally give me a kiss.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She has to resist the </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>strong urge to smirk. “I see,” she merely says. He looks at her expectantly, brows furrowed and lips formed in a pout. He waits. And waits. And waits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree does not do anything but meet his stare with a questioning gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a few more seconds, he apparently meets his limit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s my kiss!?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I never said I’d kiss you.” She says with mirth in her tone, and Jesse throws his head back with a desperate groan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Breeeeee!” He musters his greatest attempt at puppy dog eyes she’s ever witnessed, “Pretty please, Ma’am?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah,</span>
  </em>
  <span> does a whine like that make her heart flutter like nothing else. And, well, those lips are looking pretty enticing right about now. When she leans forward, he lets out a whimper of anticipation, something that sends a strike of heat to her core— though his dick still being inside her is probably the main reason for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is a full-on, open mouthed kiss. She practically lays on top of him, her small body melting into his. His lips are demanding, and the two of them hold it for a few seconds, before their lips move in perfect sync; fast and passionate. Bree exhales through her nose, not wanting to let go, but soon enough they part.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When their lips do slowly part, they are still briefly connected by a small thread of saliva.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse’s eyes, which had closed as they kissed, leisurely begin to open, eyelids relaxed as he slowly sucks in the cool air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn. That was pretty poggers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes every ounce of strength that Bree has to not shove him off the couch then and there. She rolls her eyes, flopping over so that she lays on her side next to him. “Don’t say that after we fucked, oh my god.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think we were loud enough to alert the bigfoots… bigfeet? Bigfellas? To our location. We gotta lock our doors before we go to bed. Ah, but I guess locked doors won’t keep us safe from the aliens.” His arms wrap around her waist, his chin nuzzling against the top of her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it bigfoot or aliens?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not both?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She playfully smacks him on the arm. “You’re ruining our cuddle moment by saying this ridiculous shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Abduction is a legitimate concern!” His voice tapers off into a soft chuckle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are depriving some village of their idiot. Go back from whence you came.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They exchange more quips, the scent of sex lingering in the air, and the cozy wamrth of their body heat and the pellet stove making Bree feel a little drowsy as the time continues on. The two cuddle, and eventually they fall asleep in one another’s arms.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The aroma of bacon, toast and hashbrowns fills the cabin as Jesse buzzes around the small kitchen, already dressed in a comfy winter sweater and jeans. Every now and then, his mind would meander to thoughts of Bree wearing his sweater. She’d just be swimming in the garment, which quite frankly is the most glorious image he thinks he could ever imagine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rolls his shoulders when he plates the food, feeling a slight ache on his neck and shoulder from where she enthusiastically bit him the night before. He reaches upwards to get a profiterole, which is absolutely horrible as breakfast food and not something he’d ever eat in the first place, but he’s got an idea in mind that he figures can’t hurt to try. Bree likes to say she has self-control… well, he plans on putting a test to that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he idly plays with the pastry in his hand, he glances out the window.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A deep sense of serenity quickly overcomes him as he stares placidly at the expanse of blue that runs just in front of the cabin. The river isn’t frozen over, but he surmises it’ll be pretty soon. A blanket of white covers pretty much everything else, and at times he spots specks of greyish-brown when a bohemian waxwing flies across tree branches. Rays of morning sunlight dance delicately across the water, and he hopes they’ll be going snowshoeing later. Maybe even fishing or riding on a toboggan. Really, anything is fine as long as he’s doing it with Bree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, winter. His favourite time of year, especially when it’s as serene as this… with the only sound to break the calm silence, is the slow methodical beat of its wings, as a lone grey heron passed lazily, and unseen, overhead. Soothing. He loves it…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...Aaaaah…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That aside, he’d really like to get his ass spanked right about now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears a rustling from the couch as well as a yawn, and he enacts his plan of attack. Bent over the kitchen counter with his ass facing her, he languidly sways his hips. His voice is wistful, but his eyes speak of a not-so-subtle desire, “Ah, Bree, Bree, Bree…” He chides, “All this talk about your sweets and pastries and whatever… Why are so focused on eating all this sugar when you could be eating…” He slowly takes a bite from the profiterole, tongue darting from his lips, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“...Me?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree sits up, blearily rubbing her eyes and yawning again. “...Huh? What? Did you say something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Goddammit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well… it is probably his fault for doing this first thing in the morning, but sometimes a man’s just hit with a wave of </span>
  <em>
    <span>need.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Regardless, he puts the pastry away— that’s probably enough sugar for him for the entire trip, he’s never been a fan of desserts. He only bakes for Bree.— and takes both their plates and gives her her breakfast. She sleepily murmurs her thanks as he sits next to her, stuffing himself with hashbrowns while he eyes her almost suspiciously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, why don’t short people get other short people and stack up on one another so that they’re the height of a normal person? Maybe then you’ll reach your sweets. I’ve gotta make you work for it, you know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, his heart flutters when she does that cute thing where furrows her brows together. He’s a bit too focused on her expression to even notice her arm reaching forward, and he’s brought back to reality when her finger flicks his forehead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah!” He exclaims.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At least let me wake up before you start your shenanigans,” she grumbles, sleep still clinging to her voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rubbing his head, he snickers like a schoolboy. “Will that be your standard attack to protect yourself from the bigfoot?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I was thinking it would be more effective against aliens.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They eat their breakfast, their topics of conversation ranging from their plans for the day— tobogganing is indeed on the itinerary— but when she becomes fully awake he increases the frequency of which he mentions bigfoot and aliens. Occasionally, his mind wanders about how he can shove in the pastries he’s deviously keeping out of her reach into the conversation— not like he’s actively keeping the shit away from her, if she wants it he’s not going to get in her way of her food. It’s all… playful ribbing. Testing that self-control of hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because he knows when he riles her up sufficiently she’s more likely to give him what he wants. Like, hello, the best spanks are when he’s getting punished for something silly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And…</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s well-aware she’s got some other… items with her. Somewhere. She always brings some extra toys. He’s just giving her a reason to take them out and use them against him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse might get an exasperated groan from his girlfriend every now and then. When they go out and do their outdoor activities he keeps his teasing at bay since he doesn’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> annoy her. But when they’re in the cabin it’s all free game.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first week, she doesn’t do much beyond a playful smack on the ass that never goes beyond one hit, or pushing him to the couch and riding him… It all feels fucking great… but Jesse is looking for a specific type of play and she just </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> giving it to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is a battle of wills. She’s doing this on purpose because he likes to playfully keep the pastries away from her—!! Could this be a new form of punishment for the stupid conspiracy theory talk he brings up sometimes?! How cruel!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s got to go all out! If aliens and bigfoot won’t do it he has to bring out his trump card! He’s got to annoy her so thoroughly she </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to give him the strap and then some! He knows she brought it with her!! He just can’t find it!</span>
  <em>
    <span> Aaaargh!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A man’s gotta do what he’s gotta scooby-dooby-do… And if he wants his ass beat or fucked, he’s just gotta bring out some more unorthodox methods.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re seriously watching Twitch?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse’s lips tug upwards in a small smirk. Oh yeah, he already knows this is going to work judging by that reaction. He lays on his back on the couch with Bree at his side, sometimes glancing at his phone but not paying attention. “Better than doing my backlog, isn’t it?” He says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the evening, and the pellet stove is on, and they’re cozy in sweaters. Really, as far as he’s concerned, it really was the perfect time to watch some virtual anime girls play horror games.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree rubs her face against the crook of his neck with a lazy </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘mhm,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he feels her smile. "I know you’ve been watching Twitch streams during work hours. Naughty."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Admittedly, his mouth works faster than his brain— just so drunk on dopamine at the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>naughty</span>
  </em>
  <span> flying around his head that he has to say something </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> specific he knows will get on her nerves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Gotta get that ace yanno, no pain no gain easy clap for that W."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence that blankets over them is both exciting and fucking hilarious. He can practically hear the cogs in Bree’s brain moving slowly as she digests what he just said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to stifle his laughter. “Top lane Draven harder silver scrub.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her expression morphs into one between disbelief and exasperation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I swear I am going to cut your pay if you spout anymore of this nonsense." She says and </span>
  <em>
    <span>aha!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He knows he’s getting close to getting what he wants. Now it’s time to hit the final nail on the coffin—!!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse licks his lips before he says it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Poggers."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Almost immediately, his vision is covered when Bree flings a pillow directly at his face, and he drops his phone with a laugh. There’s a kerfuffle as he has to shield himself from her continuous attacks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to strangle you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives her a thumbs up before being hit again with the pillow. “Honestly, please go ahead!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ugh.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bree groans dramatically, throwing the pillow halfway across the room and then points at him with a scowl, though there is heat in her dark hazel eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Success,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks. She’s really going to give it to him now! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get to the bed and stay there if you know what’s good for you, you moron.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he’s not quite done yet, because if there was one thing Jesse likes to think he excels at, it’s riling his girlfriend up in the worst way known to man. He grins widely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Bree, type unbindall in the dev console. It should fix your player model size.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She throws her head back with a groan that borders on a shriek, her hands tightly gripping her hair, “I don’t even know what that fucking means!” The heat in her eyes turns into a full-blown inferno, hot enough to make him begin to sweat, and she roughly grabs onto the collar of his sweater. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So help me, I’m going to beat some fucking sense into you.” She growls, brokering no room for argument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mission: Complete.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The big, goofy smile remains on his face when she unceremoniously drags him to the bedroom.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bright red rope juxtaposes beautifully with his skin, his body now completely nude save for the, well, rope. It crisscrosses around his broad chest, looping around his biceps and forcing his arms to be bound behind him. His nipples harden from the cool air. Around his thighs and calves are three loops each, all tied together on each lower limb and therefore forcing his legs to remain bent. There’s rope lovingly tied around his cock, too, coiled around the base of his dick and balls but not tight enough to prevent any blood flow. He knows the rope around his chest, arms and legs are tight enough that they’ll be leaving marks, which just further arouses him. Each knot around his body is… familiar. Just like the ones he used for those Christmas presents.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, well… He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> indeed a present to be admired, if he does say so himself. Jesse wiggles his body, no doubt he is the most enticing delicacy his girlfriend has ever laid eyes upon! Therein lies the few caveats about being blindfolded— he can’t see how her eyes roam around his body! How she eats him up with her eyes! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah!</span>
  </em>
  <span> How he wishes he could watch her objectify him right about now!! She’s already given him in a handjob to bring him to erection, now it’s time to start in earnest!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except, clearly Bree is intent on making him suffer for the nonsense he put her through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should just leave you here while I plunder your desserts.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A whine makes its way through his throat, his body wriggling in protest. “You wouldn’t! Not after spending so much time lovingly tying me up!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He musters his best pout when he hears her </span>
  <em>
    <span>crunch</span>
  </em>
  <span> on something! When did she get that?! Sounds like it might be a kouign-amanns. Oh gee, was he drowning in so much bliss that he didn’t even notice her sneaking off to the kitchen and stacking chairs together to get her prize?! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damn… Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the scrub that needs to try harder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse continues to just hear her chew on something, and sometimes he thinks she’s tapping on her phone’s screen. Through gritted teeth, he makes his growing desperation evident with an impatient huff.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am, you’re so crueeeel.” He whines, and he hears Bree lightly chuckle after a few moments.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe someone like you, who can be so shameless and yet so considerate in bed, can say the dumbest shit when we aren’t having sex. Men really are something else.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can feel the mattress shift, and her words take on a soft tune. Like she’s trying to reassure him of something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is gonna be intense. Maybe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse wets his lips. He thinks he can afford to get on her nerves just a little more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I’ll be fine. Women born after 1993 can't peg, anyways."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air between them feels both tense and brittle, making him further excited. He’s certain Bree is wrinkling her nose at him with narrowed eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s already this far, might as well go all the way. "All they know is vibrators, edge their clit, spank, eat boy ass and cum." His voice turns into a fit of giggles at the end of it at the absurdity of it all, goosebumps forming on his skin in anticipation as the seconds drag on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree huffs. “That's it, I’m gagging you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A dazzling and triumphant grin splits from his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please do!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s shuffling on the wooden floor, followed by a bag being unzipped. Briefly, he wonders just how much she’s brought with her. Bree </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a habit about being awfully… prepared with this sort of thing. Jesse knows from personal experience that she has quite the collection of gags. Dildo gags are a personal favourite of his, especially when she uses them to ride his face to oblivion, but right now he wants to be the one to ride </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree opts for the classic ball gag that fits snugly in his mouth and will absolutely make his jaw hurt from fatigue depending on how long his mouth is going to be forced open. He allows her to secure the toy, humming contentedly once it’s firmly prying his lips apart. Out of habit, he runs his tongue across the gag. Bree appears to take a moment to appreciate her work since she doesn’t do anything else for a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he does enjoy being ogled at. Especially when he’s tied up. A present to be admired and all that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Apparently done gazing upon him after a few extra seconds, a hand on his shoulder forces him to lay on his stomach. Lying like this and with how his limbs are tied together, it probably looks like he’s been hogtied. He can already feel the saliva overflowing in his mouth and spilling past his lips and gag when Bree greedily gropes the flesh of his buttocks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Clearly these haven’t been beaten enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he could squeal with excitement, he would. Instead, he wiggles his ass, shuddering with anticipation. He just imagines the twisted smile of joy that’s gracing her features, which makes his heart skip a beat. Will she use her hands, or—?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crack.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of something being violently swung in the air invades his eardrums, and then the sharp, stinging sensation that assaults his skin takes over a portion of his brain. He is unable to focus on anything but the feeling of pain that sears through his ass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it feels fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>divine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he knows exactly what she’s using. Her belt! Fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeeeeeeees!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The end of her belt bites into the firm muscle of his ass in quick succession. He bucks his hips, always lifting his hips as much as he’s able to gladly meet her hits. Groans escape his gagged mouth from the exquisite, debilitating belting. It takes over his every thought. The pain owns him, dominates every thought, controls every action. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bree</span>
  </em>
  <span> owns him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ughi… Nggh… mmph!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body writhes violently as a result of her persistent belting. His body heats up with masochistic excitement from how he practically drowns in arousal. His cock aches, begging for touch that isn’t just the bedsheets as he grinds his hips. Jesse becomes driven by wild zeal as Bree continues to deliciously dominate his restrained body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the royal beating she’s currently gifting him, her accompanying words hold none of the degradation or dehumanization that one might expect from someone in her position. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re so good at taking this, Jesse,” she breathes harshly, something heated hiding behind her words. She’s clearly enjoying this as much as he is, “You’re so perfect. God. So fucking perfect.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>beams</span>
  </em>
  <span> with pride from that, well, he would if he wasn’t too preoccupied with grimacing and thrashing every time she hits him with the belt. His face is dirty with sweat and drool, and he knows tears will soon be coming out of his eyes any moment now. The belt is not the only thing that gives him a delectable skin, the rope coiling tightly around his body bites into him the more he moves his body around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>More… More… More…!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Delightful agony muddies his consciousness, and if he were ungagged, his feeble words would have turned into a delirious chant— forever begging for more. Jesse raises hips up once more, putting more force into his legs bound with tight rope, as he screams from behind the gag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngh…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crack in the air every time she swings her arm high up only to bring it crashing down against his defenseless form makes his cock swell with unquenchable excitement. Perhaps it is ironic given what they’re currently doing, but he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’s swinging the belt down on him with feverish compassion. That, in turn, makes him even more aroused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree’s voice is hoarse as she roars, “You’re so beautiful. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a lashing!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His nostrils flare as his groans with even more fervour, the belting having transformed him into a howling beast. It’s like his brain has been pulverized by her unrelenting ministrations onto his backside. He throws his body side to side in the throes of passion, always instinctively rising his hips in a frenzy. Jesse’s eyes roll back from behind the blindfold, an unending stream of drool slovenly hanging from his chin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body jumps like a spring with every hit, convulsing in pain but he still pleads for more in his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>M-M-More….!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hair a disheveled mess from his writhing he lets out another maddening howl. “Mphmmm…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His entire body is on fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire.</span>
  </em>
  <span> After one more particularly painful hit his taut body goes limp on the bed. His ass is going to be swollen for days after this, and it feels like it’s made of molten lava. His cock leaks precum and Jesse feels awashed with a strange sort of satisfaction from getting his girlfriend to dish out such merciless and pleasurable pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse hears the belt being dropped to the ground, and Bree’s heavy breathing makes him smile behind the gag. Oh yeah, hot and bothered— all because of him. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> perfect. And so is she! Literally the best spanking he could have begged for!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her soft footsteps approach him, and she lightly rubs his abused flesh. She’s almost impossibly gentle, and he knows from experience that she is asking him an unspoken question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should I stop?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like hell she should! To illustrate his consent and enjoyment he vigorously shakes his ass against her hand, moaning out as many happy sounds as he’s possibly able.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmh! Nghmm!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She responds with a soft chuckle. “Good boy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A dip in the mattress signifies her approach, and unlike the first time, she flips over to his back gently. He shifts from the slight pressure put on his rear, but it’s nothing extraneous, and the cushions help alleviate any sting he would have. He puts most of his body weight onto his back as he lays down, and he rubs his chin on his shoulder in an attempt to dispel some of his overflowing drool.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he hears… </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> being opened, alongside squelching noises of some type of liquid being slathered onto an object. Instinctively, he spreads his legs wide. Beneath the gag and blindfold, his expression is spellbound with lust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take a genius to know what item she’s currently coating. He wiggles his body, as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clearly Bree gets his meaning, because her voice lilts devilishly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you excited, heh.” Something begins to prod at his entrance, “First I gotta loosen you up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It isn’t the strap that enters him, not yet anyway, but instead a lithe and wet finger slips inside his willing anus. Sweet pleasure shoots through his body like electricity, causing him to unconsciously arch his back. The walls of his sphincter cling onto her digit, already not wanting her to leave him. She somewhat forcefully spreads open his asshole— just the way he likes it!— and pushes inwards into his depths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Light pressure swells from his abdomen, but it isn’t enough to cause him any actual pain, though his abused cheeks seem to feel even more heated as she continues her prodding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your ass is the best.” Is all he hears before she begins to thrust in and out aggressively, making him quiver. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse groans as his intestinal walls are rubbed relentlessly, and her finger is soon joined by another. It does not take long for her to find that bundle of nerves that never fails to make feel like he’s going to lose his fucking mind. With a single curl of her fingers, she assaults his vulnerable prostate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmphh—!” His cock bounces as he howls out, and every time she pushes into his hole, ripples of pleasure run up his torso like undulating waves. A particularly hard thrust against his prostate makes his body jump sharply, and his muffled voice becomes much like a bitch in heat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, despite the maddening level of stimulation, he desperately tries to suppress his rapidly increasing arousal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re not even at the best part! He can’t cum yet!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The more you resist, the more laboured your breathing gets. I kinda dig it,” Bree’s honeyed and husky voice says above him. There’s humour in her tone, “Makes me really want to drive you into a corner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if she’s not already doing that. He would scoff if he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fingers that had been digging inside him completely exits him, and his anus twitches at the loss. He doesn’t even get the time to lament the lack of her touch, because next he knows there’s something decidedly bigger nudging against his entrance. Jesse’s heart skips a beat, his fingers flexing and clenching behind his back. His bent legs reposition themselves so that they touch his chest, and he waits expectantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then… a sound.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brrrrrr.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The telltale noise of a magic wand vibrator—!!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels the vigorous vibrations on the tip of his cock, and he bucks his hips and writhes his body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he already knows that the devious toy is set to its highest setting. Before he can fully register the sensation from the vibrator, the thick strap-on is aggressively shoved inside him. The dildo, thoroughly coated with lube, spreads his anus to its limits. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ughii… Agh..!” Drool escapes his lips once more, and he clenches his jaw so tightly he thinks he might just shatter the gag. Despite the size, it does not hurt much— instead he mainly feels an onslaught of exhilaration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Voice tinged with pleasure and shock, his cock stiffens at the onslaught of pleasure. She forcibly presses the massager’s tip, set to its highest output, against his urethra, occasionally moving it up and down his shaft. The motions of the vibrator directly attacks his nerves, making him contort his body violently with an arched back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree then knocks the wind out of him when slams her hips against his, burying the dildo it its hilt. Jesse breathes heavily as his shoulders heave up and down, and the smile is evident in his girlfriend’s voice, which quivers with excitement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Slut. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My</span>
  </em>
  <span> slut, all tied up and pretty just for me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods his head vigorously. The vibration attacking his cock sends sweat flying as his body spasms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pulls the dildo nearly out of him only to slam it completely back in him. She fucks him like a beast, and his inner walls tightly and gleefully clasp onto the toy. He surrenders himself to her drilling through his anus, happily drowning in his complete submission to Bree’s pistoning hips and the vibrations torturously stimulating his glans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The massager and strap completely controls his body, causing him to bounce like a fish floundering about on a boat. A firm hand grips his cock to keep it still, though the mere thought of her hand just simply touching him simply makes him feel even more titillation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree slams the dildo into him countless times. The sound of slapping flesh echoes in the cabin alongside his whimpers and groans, and he hears her grunt roughly above him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gonna… hah… Gonna fuck you to the mattress so hard you can’t walk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s certainly making good on that promise!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels like his cock is so swollen it’s about to burst. She deftly makes sure she can’t escape, of course, and the vibrator feels as though it’s melting into his very being. He may have been able to take the toy well enough, but the dildo currently skewering him is taking over his every thought. He’s only able to focus on Bree’s laboured breathing for a second before he throws his head back for the millionth time when she thrusts back inside him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His muscles clench around the toy, the upper half of his body thrashing about. From the heat coursing through his veins to the heaviness in his balls he knows he’s nearing his absolute limit, and clearly Bree senses it too as she pistons her hips even more rapidly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The intense pressure in his cock soon becomes unbearable the more she grinds into the depth of his ass. Howls of delight come rushing forth every time their bodies slam into one another. The sensitivity granted by the vibrator exacerbates every sensation he feels— screw not being able to walk after this, he’s just going to pass out from everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the throes of pleasure, Bree swings her hips in one last powerful thrust that finally sends him over the edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shaft of his cock trembles as he ejaculates. His semen shoots out from his member as he moans in blissful agony. He’d be kicking his legs violently from the stimulation, but the rope rigidly keeps his limbs in place, digging into his skin. Jesse can already feel himself becoming quickly fatigued from Bree thoroughly violating him. Stars blind his vision, and his stomach is showered by his cloudy white cum.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His inner walls clench one more time around the toy before it completely exits him, leaving his body spasming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, his girlfriend grits out a sound of ecstasy as she drops the vibrator, finally allowing his sensitive cock reprieve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearly tired herself, Bree lays on top of him, panting heavily. Their two sweat-slicked bodies remain there, and just like he predicted it— his jaw fucking hurts from being forced open for so long. His ass feels like it’s being assaulted by pins and needles, too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And seeing how Bree has grown tired, he’ll probably be laying like this for a little while longer.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you keep the ropes on me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree’s hands stop at the knot she was about to undo, and she looks at Jesse with a raised brow. “Oh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cheeks are as red as his ass, but despite that, he flutters his eyes like he’s trying to flirt with her for some reason. “I like how it feels. Makes me feel secure, I guess. C’mon, you can snuggle up to me like I’m your big teddy-bear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Certainly an enticing prospect that she thinks she can happily oblige. Her big tied up teddy-bear. But first things first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’s your ass? Need any more ointment? Do you need more water?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah. I’m all good. Just need those snuggles now. Preferably under at least fifty blankets.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She huffs, putting a blanket over him and quickly gets in with him. She puts his head between her breasts and he lets out a happy and exaggerated </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘aaaaaaaah.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now that you fucked me so thoroughly that I can’t walk, I can probably get some work done.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snorts. “You’re the worst at pillowtalk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This coming from the woman who threatens to bash people’s heads in with rocks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, bash their heads in for </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>sake! That’s romantic!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lets out a throaty chuckle, wriggling his body and nuzzling further against her nude chest. “You talk about rock bashing but I see those furtive grins you get whenever someone excitedly asks you things about the park, or how you look like a proud mother looking over her kids when your wardens do something right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something… tingles in her. It feels like someone has turned on an internal heater inside her system, and her pale skin slowly turns to a shade of a ripe strawberry. “Psh… I’m not such a softy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> soft. C’mon, Bree, we both love our jobs so I know you actually love alllll the guests and coworkers!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cranes his head back to look her in the eyes, a cocksure grin on his lips that tells her he’s about to say something stupid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pog—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bree smacks upside the head, though of course Jesse just happily takes it. She rolls her eyes, no pinching his cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up you goof! I take back what I said about you being perfect!”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suffice to say, they had a very… </span>
  <em>
    <span>busy</span>
  </em>
  <span> time at the cabin. Jesse shifts in his seat constantly, still feeling the sting from the last spanking Bree had given him, and he has to constantly pull his shirt sleeves down to hide the rope marks on his wrists. They haven’t reopened the park yet, as they’re still settling in and turning everything back on. Jesse gets some paperwork in order as he waits for his computer to boot up, though he feels the other receptionists’ eyes occasionally on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He catches one of their glances and raises a brow, but the other man just stifles a cough and averts his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Busy holiday?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Jesse hums, “Had a backlog like I said. I’d say I was pretty productive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aha… Yeah, I can see that…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s… something in that stilted reply that makes him pause, though he doesn’t get any time to mull it over because next thing he knows is Bree entering the visitor centre. As per usual, the wardens straighten their backs and salute her, and they exchange words. Jesse finds himself straightening in his back too, looking up from his work every now and then just to get a look at his girlfriend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she’s done checking up on her wardens she saunters to his desk, but he purses his lips into a thin line to stifle a smile and keeps his gaze on papers and computer. Gotta keep it cool. Gotta just be coworkers here. Down low and secret and all that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To keep the air of professionalism, Bree refers to him by his last name. Her brows are pinched with her lips formed in a frown— but that’s how she always looks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Mandell, I hope you had a good holiday?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods, “It was very relaxing. How about you, Ma’am?” When he looks up, he swears he sees her clench her jaw poignantly, but the action ends too quickly for him to fully register it. Is it just him, or is everything acting a little weird right now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Very relaxing, I hope you know that the cabin is always open for you.” Bree drawls… somewhat ominously. Really, it almost sounds like a threat with the way she says it, and the next thing he knows is that she’s pointing at her neck. “You might want to cover that up. It looks like you got punched in the throat. It wouldn’t be a good look for the park if visitors think the receptionists get into fights.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he hears the snickering from the other receptionists, Jesse can feel his face heat up like a skillet on a stovetop. He practically slaps his hand onto his neck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck! Fuuuuuuuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He derides himself internally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ohmygod there’s a fucking hickey, isn’t there?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Pretty productive,’ huh?” He hears someone comment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Great, now not only did he make a fool of himself in front of his coworkers, now his coworkers think he made a fool of himself in front of the big bad marshal, too! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The time he takes to awkwardly clear his throat is the longest seconds of his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah… ahem, uh, yeah of course. I’ll just excuse myself to the bathroom real quick… Um, does anyone have any powder I can use…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He all but runs to the bathroom, but when he gives a brief look towards the reception area before closing the door, he spots Bree sporting the barest hint of a smile, and she winks at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t really do anything to abate the blush that attacks his face, it only makes his cheeks feel warmer.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Little did Jesse know, but Bree mouthed the words 'monkaS' at him before he went to the bathroom.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Mon petit écureuil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Requested by Ylajalih - A clueless 'man-eater' and her equally clueless and tsundere love interest skip around each other until Stuff Happens. Sort of a regency-era type setting, also with an overt matriarchy. There's some spattering of French here and there cause, uh, I speak the language and I figured I needed an excuse to use it somewhere lol. I don't think I used difficult sayings, most are translated by the characters, have simple enough meanings that can be inferred by the context of which they are said, or are common idioms. I'll have translations in the ending notes anyway. Also, just imagine that these characters are speaking a version of French, like, all the time. That's their language. </p><p>Includes: As per the request, no smut. Just two dumbasses learning how to properly communicate. The whole shtick of this story is the role reversal and matriarchy stuff. It's more FLR than femdom, I guess.</p><p>I saw something like "regency femdom week" a lil' while ago but it had a woeful lack of matriarchy. So. Here we are. Idk how successful I was in it, I'm sure the flowery prose kinda dwindled as the story went on but it was fun to write. Unbeta'd like almost everything else in this series.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Step 1: Say you're gonna shorten these stories.<br/>Step 2: Fail step 1.</p><p>Hey, at least it isn't 20K this time. It's just 17K! Lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Milicent has many opinions regarding the opposite sex.</p><p> </p><p>And so do her fellow mountaineers. For them, one prevailing belief is quite straightforward: Of all the things that drive women to the mountains, such as poverty and the desire to find riches, the most common motivator to make the ascent to treacherous lands is to simply get away from the disaster that is men. Naturally, their opinions usually take a change near the end of their treks, with them lamenting of not having a man in their arms or cooking them a warm meal. </p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,’ </em> appears to be an adage that rings consistently true.</p><p> </p><p>Though that would only be… half true in Milicent’s case. She certainly can’t live without men, wonderful, delicate creatures that they are. She does not go to the mountains to escape, quite the opposite! First, it is a sport she genuinely enjoys, and second, whenever she makes her triumphant return from successfully scaling the highest peak she is always met with a gaggle of men who look at her as if she were their god. It is partly because the mountains allow her to enjoy the company of men tenfold that she climbs them! The attention is frankly delectable!</p><p> </p><p>There is a cheer from everyone around her, all members of her team and hollering like hooligans after imbibing in a fair amount of whiskey in celebration. After a successful ascent and descent, the women now relax in a coach pulled by four horses that takes them back to civilization. Millicent swirls the whiskey in her glass, listening to the chinking of the ice cubes that sometimes jump when the wheels of the automobile ride over some rocks, and she breathes in a fragrance that only years in an oak barrel can achieve.</p><p> </p><p>One of her companions, a small mousey looking woman with an unruly tuft of curly brown hair named Corinne, throws her a lopsided smirk. Her hazel eyes speak of something conspiratorial. “Cheers to our dear Milicent having conquered her tenth mountain! All in preparation for the highest peak in the world, eh? Climb that and every man will be tripping over their feet to catch a glimpse of the famous Duchess of Estielart, well, as long as you don’t lose a finger or two from frostbite!”</p><p> </p><p>While in the coach and still adorned in their mountaineering gear, their raucous conversing is, for the time being, not dependent on hierarchy. For now they are equals who had climbed a mountain together, but once they reach the capital everyone will return to respectfully referring to Milicent as Duchess, with the pose and grace befitting their stations.</p><p> </p><p>The oldest of the group, a marquess by the name of Danette and a body built like a bull, slaps her knee with a gruff bark of laughter. “Tripping over their feet? Aren’t they already doing that day in and day out? We all know Milicent is the role reason all the men constantly have sprained ankles, hah!” The bulky woman leans forward after taking a swig of her whiskey, jutting her chin out towards Milicent. “You’ve even caught the eye of my nephew, and he’s across the ocean! One of his friends must have sent him a photograph. Anyway, just listen to the letter he sent me.”</p><p> </p><p>The other women quiet down and listen to rapt attention, and Milicent feels a smirk tugging at her lips. Danette clears her throat in an exaggerated manner and reads off the note.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Mon dieu! </em> Duchess Milicent du Maurier! They say she is six-feet high, with the body sculpted by the gods themselves. And her face— <em> incroyable! </em>—her photograph made me recall all manner of things… the strokes of the grandest of paintings, the refinement and delicacy of an Eastern print, and the youth and piquancy that is the perfect ideal of an Estielartian woman! Oh dearest Aunt Danette, you simply must arrange a time that I may meet with her.”</p><p> </p><p>Danette huffs with a grin, waving the letter, “Then he goes on about how much he’d very much like to meet you. I am of the mind that because we work together he believes he is a much eligible candidate for your, ah, courting. <em> Bon sang, </em>that must be one more lad to add to the pile to choose from, heh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah yes, it’s ever so difficult to have a harem of men fawning over you,” Corinne snorts while grinning, throwing her head back in a swoon, “Ah, such a grievance! It’s so troublesome being a Duchess!”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent shrugs lazily. “Say what you may about the fairer sex, you cannot deny that they know quality when they see it.” She is not blind. She is well aware that she catches the eyes of many because of her beauty, and it is something she takes great care in preserving; be it through cosmetics or keeping her body fit and healthy. After all, what is the point of being a part of a lineage that highlights the finest breeding nobility could offer if all the poets of her time do not sing her visage as incomparable?</p><p> </p><p>While she certainly could never tire of male attention, Milicent is not a fool either. She is a <em> Duchess. </em> One that just recently acquired the title due to the passing of her mother. And with such great fortune… comes finding a good husband, which then naturally results in the endless stream of bachelors that attempt to grab her attention with fluttering lashes. Dressed in their finest silks and satins, their body language both demure and gaudy, like birds of striking plumage trying to attract a mate. They never say their desires outright, always dancing around the subject with pretty words and stifled giggling.</p><p> </p><p>Men are remarkably simple creatures. They do not know how to express the feelings that swell inside them, and yet they desperately try to convey them nonetheless. Utterly hopeless.</p><p> </p><p>She continues idly swaying her whiskey glass in her hand, the conversation having now turned to someone else’s male relative.</p><p> </p><p>“Marcel’s been trying to do acting. <em> Acting! </em>I was in such a shock when he posited the idea he may one day be involved with theatre. So much shock that I neglected to tell him that I have never heard of a male actor,” A woman named Nathalie says, someone who Milicent does not see often as she is among the lowest ranked out of all them due to being a baroness. </p><p> </p><p>Though not part of the conversation, Milicent raises a perfectly plucked brow at the comment. She’s never heard of a male actor either, as all roles are played by women. Corinne lets out a snort that would ordinarily be considered undignified of someone of her status.</p><p> </p><p>“Psh. From an objective standpoint men aren’t very good actors. To memorize all the lines and to take on the characteristics to pretend to be someone they aren’t?” She waves her hand flippantly, “That’s simply too much for them. I can’t imagine them being successful in such a role— besides, through acting, they lose the charming qualities of their sex. No one likes it when a man feigns to have qualities he does not have!”</p><p> </p><p>From the objective standpoint, Milicent muses men wouldn’t be very good at doing a great many things seeing how they are barred from… well, many indulgences. Writing, painting, sculpting… even something as mundane as smoking... All things that are considered to make a man lose his allure, his… <em> je ne sais quoi. </em> Admittedly, Milicent does not have any strong feelings whether men should or should not do those things. As long as he is a pretty little thing for her eyes to admire and he is wrapped around her finger, she supposes she wouldn’t feel aghast if he decided to pick up a paint brush or attempt to memorize lines for a play. </p><p> </p><p>She thinks even cycling is looked down upon for men. That just seems a bit excessive.</p><p> </p><p>She leans back, resting her elbow on the windowsill and taking a moment to watch the trees and hills pass them by. </p><p> </p><p>“It would be good to nip it at the bud while you have the chance,” She hears Danette say, “Marcel is young. He must learn of these things eventually. If he keeps at it he’ll find himself with a distinct lack of suitors when he is of age.” </p><p> </p><p>Nathalie frowns, “Is there… a gentle way to do it? I don’t want to break his heart… he’s only thirteen.”</p><p> </p><p>“He cannot be ignorant of the ways of the world forever. Better to have a broken heart at thirteen than be eighteen and realize you’ve lost your chance at a good woman finding you because you’ve wasted your youth at doing something so unmasculine.”</p><p> </p><p>Corinne takes the moment to interject with a playful jab, “Yes, break his heart now, and then he can have his heart broken again when Milicent cruelly plays with him like she does the rest of her men.”</p><p> </p><p>Her lips twitch slightly upwards and the conversation carries on. <em> Am I cruel? </em> Milicent briefly wonders, taking a swig of her whiskey. Perhaps she is, but Corinne makes it sound much… simpler than it actually is.</p><p> </p><p>She does not break hearts. </p><p> </p><p>She destroys them. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, but not intentionally! She simply cannot help giving them attention in return when they flock around her, but that then gives them a false hope that she is courting them. She treats all the men she meets similarly, and when they see her, ah… harmlessly flirting with another they become so very upset, as if she is committing an infidelity against them despite her having no intention of actually staking her claim on them as men. <em> She’s leading them on, </em> she’s heard other noblewomen say. People call her such a man-eater. Truly, a destroyer of the frail hearts of men.</p><p> </p><p>And yet the men continue to flock towards her. How fun.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, Milicent has many opinions regarding the opposite sex. Their indulgent attention rejuvenates her. Their fragile hearts are entertaining to play with. They’re desperate for her riches. If she told them to bend over she believes they would. If she told them to <em> strip </em> they would as well! Ah, they’d probably hastily divest themselves, making it a race to see who could comply with her demands the fastest… so very eager to please.</p><p> </p><p>Men are easy.</p><p> </p><p>And Milicent utterly cannot get enough of them.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> “A woman must be a beacon of knowledge, and through her knowledge and good example she must edify the men around her. She must carry herself wisely, and so holily, so that he may see her as an image of grace and wisdom. She must be an example of which a man may learn from, for him to attire himself in all modest discretion and conversation.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> For a man to learn, the woman must be so well furnished with sound knowledge, as that she must be able to teach her men, and sow the seed of piety in his conscience. A woman must be a beacon, so that she encourages the charming qualities of a his sex and reprove his faults. A man is naturally disobedient and stubborn, and so, a woman must elevate herself continually so that she is admired by men, and only then will she become a worthy head of the family. Once she achieves this will a man resolve to obey her in all things. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> After all, without the guidance of a good and wise woman, a man will be lost.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> -Lise du Maurier, Duchess of Estielart, 1847. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ever since her mother’s passing, Milicent has endeavoured to follow her teachings. Endlessly and relentlessly, she has buried her nose in books and all manner of instructional documents to learn so that she will be the one to guide whatever lucky man strikes her fancy. It is with that fervour to learn that led her to read a book about mountaineering on a whim, and thus a passion was born. A passion that not only keeps her body in tip-top shape, but her mind as well. The perils of climbing keeps her sharp, and her successes certainly leave the object of admiration. Well and truly on her way of becoming a grand Duchess, she thinks.</p><p> </p><p>Now, in the grand sweeping gardens of the ducal palace of Estielart, Milicent looks out toward the virescent pastures, rolling, with tussock. Sunlit and serene, and further ahead is a crown of rocky grey mountains with snow capped peaks— <em> le Sommet d’Aurinesse, </em>the mountain she had just returned from climbing. She had spent weeks scaling its peaks, and now it feels a tad bit surreal to be adorned with her typical attire.</p><p> </p><p>A fitted black coat with golden brocade patterning is a suitably dramatic look for someone of her stature. The solid black panels along the sides of the front feature decorative buttons, as do the sleeve cuffs. Underneath is an elegant shirt made of batiste, also black, that features an attractive ruffled trim that decorates the collar. Appropriately just as elegant are her velvet dress pants, which is both luxurious and shimmering.</p><p> </p><p>She runs a hand through her locks, intimately aware of the gazes upon her. She is far from the only individual in the gardens— of course she isn’t, not when she just made her return home and especially not when today is the day when many daughters and sons of noble families convene for a picnic, to make merry and potentially find an appropriate suitor. As such, there is a congregation of men by her, all awaiting for her to wax poetic of her travels.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent had looked at the mountain ranges on purpose— to build up suspense and anticipation. She knows men are awfully fond of that. Mother always talked of wisdom and admiration, well, now it is time to espouse some knowledge and to be idolized.</p><p> </p><p>Outstretching her hands wide, she turns to face her audience, their expectant eyes making her rosy pink lips break out into a wide grin.</p><p> </p><p>“At the crack of dawn of the third week, just after I had emerged from a state of jubilation at knowing we will be blessed with good weather, there was a sudden clearing of the atmosphere, and the entire summit ridge and final peak of Aurinesse were unveiled. I could not contain myself, and so I went and climbed! I was so close to reaching the highest summit I simply had to go,” the theatrics are on full display with how she gesticulates her hands, her eyes swimming around the group of men as she continues to regale them.</p><p> </p><p>“Any mountain provides its own unique challenges, but can be conquered all the same. To be able to overcome an impetuous ledge one must set her foot high against any angle of smooth surface, fold her shoulder to her knee, and flow upward and upright again on a curve. Doing so grants you a continuous undulating movement so rapid and so powerful that the rock must yield under your ministrations. That is how you conquer any summit!”</p><p> </p><p>It’s certainly a simpler version of what she actually does, but she knows one must take liberties when it comes to educating men of such things. They prefer a more romantic spiel, anyhow.</p><p> </p><p>One of the men, a young thing with a tuft of fiery red hair and judging by his ruffled clothing he is likely a count, “Duchess Milicent, what is it like being on top of the peak? Is it not freezing? What about the winds?”</p><p> </p><p>A wave of murmuring washes of her the men, all agreeing with the sentiment and voicing their curiosities. Milicent basks in their anticipation, not unlike a cat lying in the sun. Ah, speaking about herself in front of an interested audience truly is one of life’s simplest pleasures.</p><p> </p><p>“It is quite cold, yes. Windy as well! But they are paltry in comparison to the sights and feeling of triumph you experience when you look down on the majesty of Estielart. Not once would I ever think that the ducal palace would look so miniscule. And the height, it was as if I could reach up and touch the sun itself. You see, for such a height one must acclimatize to the environment. At certain points we had to spend three or so days adapting to the oxygen becoming thinner and thinner.”</p><p> </p><p>Predictably, another man interjects with his own question. “Thinner? How can the air become thinner?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, dear Seigneur Antoine, excellent question!” The man in question blushes and bashfully covers his mouth with his hand, “That is because the air pressure is lower, which allows individual air molecules to occupy a larger volume than air molecules do at low altitudes.”</p><p> </p><p>Confusion flickers across their expressions, and Milicent had no doubt they wouldn’t be able to understand such a concept in the first place. But they know it now! It is knowledge that will remain in their heads for years to come because she is an exquisite teacher, of that she is certain!</p><p> </p><p>Now, here comes her next attack— a pinch of humility. Men <em> love </em> humbleness.</p><p> </p><p>She places her hand on her chest, eyes closed.</p><p> </p><p>“There is nothing that can make me feel so elevated and yet so insignificant as <em> le Sommet d’Aurinesse </em> . They rise like mighty jagged teeth from the earth, creviced to perfection, sculpted by the rains and winters. The track up and over is not as a child might imagine, winding round as the tinsel goes around a Christmas tree, but folds back and forth in hairpin turns. The summer breeze down here at the base will be a winter chill up there, the alpine grass giving way to snow and ice… Truly I am nothing when it comes to the majesty of nature, but to see such vistas… remains my <em> raison d'être.” </em></p><p> </p><p>When she opens her eyes there’s a sigh of adoration, like a slight spring breeze. Excellent. She fully expects a love letter from whomever that sigh originated from to be snuck to her bedchambers some time tonight.</p><p> </p><p>Another man speaks, one with bright blond hair and even brighter blue eyes— certainly someone who has a woman or two sending him handwritten poems that go on about his ethereal beauty. “It must be difficult spending so many weeks out there. How do you find it within you to keep going? I don’t think I could last a day!”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent chuckles softly, light and airy, followed by her beckoning the men to lean in closer. “It is a very simple secret, come closer and let me share it with you all.” They do so, listening with bated breath, and her eyes crinkle when her lips curl upwards. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s quite simple. To be able to succeed in conquering such a beast that is a mountain you must… <em> Mangez bien, riez souvent, aimez beaucoup!” </em>As the men giggle in response, in one fluid motion Milicent moves so that she is astride the blond man— Seigneur Maxence, she notes. A man who once pocketed one of her loose strands of hair— and she captures his chin with her forefinger and thumb. The hitch in his breath is not missed by her and she narrows her eyes seductively. Her voice now has a slowness, a deliberate choice as she knows it will make it seem to him like she has all the time in the world to talk with him, as if he truly matters to him.</p><p> </p><p>“...And I have plenty of <em> amour </em> to give, Seigneur.”</p><p> </p><p>The man’s cheeks take on a pink rosiness, and like clockwork the envy of the other men become palpable. In order to get her attention away from Seigneur Maxence, one of them grabs onto the sleeve of her coat. “D-Duchess Milicent! It has been so long since you’ve been home, why don’t we take a stroll across the garden? The roses are blooming, a-and new fish has been introduced to the pond!”</p><p> </p><p>Her other sleeve is captured by another, “Duchess, there’s a brand new play in production, we should see it together when it releases!”</p><p> </p><p>“The conservatory is lovely this time of year!”</p><p> </p><p>“There is a parade in a month’s time—”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent releases herself from the grips by clapping, “Seigneurs, seigneurs!” She chides, though it’s with a smirk, “Come now, there are many days in a single year. I can no doubt spend endless amounts of time with you all!”</p><p> </p><p>She watches the counts and marquess’ become timid after their outbursts, though it is clear their competitive spirit remains. As it turns out, she is sure she will be inundated by many letters tonight. She is about to return to entertain them with her travels, though a masculine voice from behind her speaks first.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Il ne faut pas se fier aux apparences.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Milicent blinks, surprise washing over the men’s faces as well. For a moment, she is so flabbergasted that she can only repeat what was just said to her, “‘Do not be fooled by appearances,’ my, whatever would make you say that, Seigneur…?”</p><p> </p><p>Indeed, there must have been a jab hidden in those words. Just <em> what </em> is this individual trying to imply? She finds herself desirous in examining the appearance of such a man who has the gall to make such an impertinent comment. Milicent turns, fixing her haughty eyes onto the stranger—</p><p> </p><p>Who is not a stranger at all.</p><p> </p><p>His flawless skin matches her hair, a warm chestnut brown, and the two of them additionally share the same height of six feet. His black hair is combed backward save for a stylish strand hanging down the right side of his face, a face that even the most fastidious of sculptors could do little to improve on. His eyes, which are the sweet hue of a spring clover, scrutinizes her sharply.</p><p> </p><p>Millicent cannot help but break out in a wide grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Do my eyes deceive me? Could it be? Cecil Richelieu!” She spreads her arms wide as if she expects a hug, which in turn makes the surrounding men aghast. That, accompanied by the fact she said his name without the title Seigneur clearly makes them incredulous and green with envy. </p><p> </p><p>Cecil does not move where he stands, nor does he hug her. Instead he continues to glower at her— though, for a delicious moment his eyes widened when she called out his name, though he quickly hid whatever surprise he may have felt with a scowl. Undeterred, Milicent continues on.</p><p> </p><p>“How long has it been? Seven years? It feels as though it has been at least seventy!”  </p><p> </p><p>He huffs indignantly, taking the moment to appraise the cuffs of his obsidian black tailcoat, an elegant garment that demonstrates nobility and refinement with its velvet material and taffeta lapels decorated with metal buttons. He appears to be a little bit <em> too </em> invested in his cuffs, almost as if he is attempting to <em> act </em> nonchalant— just completely unbothered about anything or anyone.</p><p> </p><p>Well, after all, it <em> is </em> a known fact that men are not very good actors. His reason for attempting to be indifferent merely makes her more curious.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, now,” she says, “I know you must be quaking in your boots in excitement to see your old friend again! How was your time spent in the Summerfield Charm School for Wayward Boys? Surely you must have graduated with the highest honours,” Milicent narrows her eyes gleefully, tapping her chin, “Although, I must say, your quip is decidedly not a very charming one depending on why you say it. Thus, I simply must know what prompted you to say it. The curiosity is killing me.”</p><p> </p><p>She meant it in jest— a lighthearted comment. But Cecil appears to take great offense to it with how he glares at her suddenly, nostrils flaring, and he addresses the other men.</p><p> </p><p>“You fools. How long will you sit there as she wraps you all around her finger? How do you not realize by now that just because she is a Duchess does not mean she is not a woman of ill-repute?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Some of the men behind her gasp audibly, and Milicent responds with a raised brow. Clearly, Charm School has not been very effective, and yet she takes no insult in his biting remark. Instead, she lets out a single bark of laughter. </p><p> </p><p>“You little minx, you. Trying to scare everyone away so that you have me all to yourself? Come now, take a seat, I have many more stories to tell. I am sure there will be at least one that is to your fancy!”</p><p> </p><p>Cecil’s eye noticeably twitches, and his lips curl in disaster. Curiously, he has to clear his throat after attempting to speak but failing, and there is something forced in his reply.</p><p> </p><p>"No. I merely do not like you. In fact you make me physically ill.” Another series of scandalized gasps comes from behind her, “I was attempting to look out for my fellow men, but clearly they are lost causes. Goodbye.”</p><p> </p><p>With a <em> hmph </em> he turns on his heel and leaves with quick steps. For an uncharacteristic Milicent finds herself… <em> Shocked. </em> Like she couldn’t quite register what had just occurred, and after a few seconds she realizes her mouth is uncharacteristically left agape in befuddlement.</p><p> </p><p>The men surround her, some tugging on her sleeve again, whose name she finds she cannot remember anymore despite always making sure to memorize the names of her admirers. Her gaze fixates on Cecil’s retreating form, her mind replaying the image of his scowl.</p><p> </p><p>“Duchess Milicent, I had no idea you were acquainted with Count Cecil—”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s such a boorish man—”</p><p> </p><p>“So very rude, oh my goodness—”</p><p> </p><p>Their words begin to morph into one, a jumbled, hazy mess she does not listen to. Cecil remains her main focus.</p><p> </p><p>Because that was, simply put, the first time a man had spoken to her like that. The first time a man… <em> resisted </em> her, and yet, she knows there is something he is hiding. Something, she very quickly decides, she wants to find out— a feeling reminiscent to when she unveils fossils or other lost treasures buried in the snow atop those fierce mountain peaks. Excitement? She certainly has her curiosity piqued. This man who she had known in her youth, only for him to speak to her like this—!!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> How interesting! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She inhales deeply, her dazzling smile returning as she addresses the men.</p><p> </p><p>“My, enough of that, my dears. Did I not say I have enough time for you all? Come, let us enjoy a stroll through the garden.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The ducal palace, ornate in its architecture and splendid in its gardens, looks its best when the sun is setting. Milicent finds that she feels the most at ease when the reddish-orange light of the sun’s rays filter through the window. She leans against a marble pillar, enjoying a cup of peppermint tea. She stands on the third floor, overlooking the garden through the window.</p><p> </p><p>The sculptures in front of the palace had been made long ago by masters of the craft. They are set on pedestals amid the water of the fountains and the perfectly manicured hedges that are cut in the shape of many exotic animals. The picnic has since ended, though some individuals still remain as they wait for their carriages to arrive. The entire thing had been meant for... what is it that Danette said… ‘connection making,’ or something to that effect. For women to meet potential allies, and for men to present themselves as promising future husbands.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent didn’t really achieve either, not that that is much of a concern. Being a Duchess gives her allies to fall to her lap… and, well, men groveling at her feet. She’s already been alerted by one of the servants about a deluge of letters directed to her.</p><p> </p><p>She brings the rim of her cup to her lips, and Corinne— now appropriately dressed in a shirt made of batiste with a fitted collar decorated with a lace bow and a decorative fastener, along with black velvet pants and knee high leather boots— makes her current discontent known through a grumble.</p><p> </p><p>“And to think on top of this that Count Cecil implied that <em> he </em> could simply climb Aurinesse like we did. <em> ‘Congratulations on climbing a large hill,’ </em>just who does he think he is! I’m astonished that you haven’t kicked him out yet.” Creases form from her eyebrows pinching together, and she presses her lips together in a thin, annoyed line.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent hums nonchalantly, and Corinne sharply turns her head to look out the window.</p><p> </p><p>“Milicent—” she stops herself, muttering, <em> “Merde—” </em> she stops once more, coughing awkwardly and attempting to level her voice for the third attempt.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, Duchess Milicent, surely you must find his impertinence grating. What is he even doing here if he is just going to growl like a dog? Are you certain he went to Charm School?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” She merely replies, moving her gaze to watch what Corinne is looking at. She hears the woman say something else, the smirk evident in her tone.</p><p> </p><p>“Well… anyway, you’ve got some documents about tariffs to take a look at. Tax reforms too, and-”</p><p> </p><p>Her words become mumbling to Milicent’s ears as she just focuses solely on the man in question.</p><p> </p><p>Cecil sits at a garden table, alone, and even from the third floor she sees… something in his expression. He slowly pokes at a bush of roses next to him, soon resting his chin in his hand. His eyes are… staring at nothing. Like he is daydreaming. Wistful, even. Nothing like the scowl he had given her earlier. At one point he appears to sigh heavily. It makes Milicent think of one thing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A young bachelor ignorant of love. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There are… many things a woman can <em> teach </em> a man such as him, perhaps.</p><p> </p><p>The heat of desire coils within her, simmering just beneath the surface of her skin. She can add a new opinion when it comes to the mysterious workings of men. Men are curious little things. There is surely something happening here, of that she is certain. </p><p> </p><p>Men are meant to be <em> easy </em> and yet he already proven himself of something who fiercely resists her. Milicent touches a hand on the window, tracing Cecil’s form with her fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“He and I have known each other for some time,” she murmurs, as if she needs to remind herself of that very fact, and distantly she hears Corinne huff. Ah, she already knows she will be reminiscing on old memories. He has always been more abrasive than most, hence the need to send him to a Charm School, but now as an adult she finds such an aggressive man much more… enticing. </p><p> </p><p><em> No man has been able to resist me, </em> she muses to herself, <em> I quite enjoy the attention. And I certainly think I may enjoy a challenge. I do not climb mountains just for the fun of it, after all. </em></p><p> </p><p>He wishes to play hard to get? So be it.</p><p> </p><p>Her lips twist into a sly smile as she continues to look down on Cecil, and the words on her tongue feel strangely familiar.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Mon petit écureuil.” </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>There never were, and perhaps never will be, two more frivolous, yet more determined, snowball fight fanatics than Milicent and Cecil. Each year when they were small, young children, at the first serious snow flurry, they would meet in the ducal palace gardens and build their forts. The later snow would be for making projectiles, and the forts set them up for an entire winter of battles ahead. Before each snowball fight they'd bow to one another, mimicking characters in a book, turn stiffly, and walk to their fort. From then onwards there were no rules and certainly no grace at all— just snow warfare at its most intense. They never felt like they'd had enough fun until they were a curious mixture of numb, raw and bruised.</p><p> </p><p>Some of their snowballs were so compacted that several felt solid and icy. The ones from the fresh fallen flakes bursted open on impact, showering crystalline fragments that glinted in the wintry light.</p><p> </p><p>As they had pelted one another with an endlessly flurry of snow, their mothers watched them from afar. Milicent’s mother was speaking with Cecil’s, and the two older women made merry with tea, a gaggle of servants never far from them. His family owned a logging company, and were clearing land to further expand Estielart and thus he visited quite often for their mothers to discuss future construction plans.</p><p> </p><p>Ah… it was indeed… a simpler time.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re gonna lose, Mili!” Cecil taunted from behind a garden wall, having been chased out of his little fort. </p><p> </p><p>“No way!” came an out of breath Milicent, carrying an abundance of fresh snowballs and slowly lumbering towards him, “You’re the one that’s gonna lose!”</p><p> </p><p>When he tried to maneuver around her she then barreled towards him, tackling him with all the snow in her arms and making both of them tumble to the ground. In a fit of giggles they rolled around as they wrestled, the snow crunching beneath their bodies.</p><p> </p><p>Soon though, someone clapped, and when their attention turned to the noise they saw Cecil’s father. He was a man with a kind face, whose eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Cecil, dear, we’ve intruded on the Duchess’ gardens long enough. It’s time to go home,” he said in jest, though a glance at their mothers confirmed they had finished discussing whatever it was they were talking about.</p><p> </p><p>It made both of them pout, and Cecil made his displeasure known first.</p><p> </p><p>“But I don’t wanna leave! I wanna play with Mili more.” He flung a small fistful of snow at his father, who responded with a chuckle. “And I wanna try that <em> vélocipède, </em> too! Mili’s family just got a new one. Everyone calls it a boneshaker!”</p><p> </p><p>His father leaned forward to help Cecil up, but his son quickly ran away and stuck out his tongue. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re only seven,” his father said, “The <em> vélocipède </em>is much too tall for you. And I know what you’re going to say— but even if you were tall enough a man probably shouldn’t be riding on those things anyhow.”</p><p> </p><p>Cecil threw his head back with a dramatic groan, and Milicent giggled. </p><p> </p><p>“Papa! You said the same thing about horse riding!”</p><p> </p><p>His father’s smile remained, a look that only a patient parent could wear. “Now, now. You’ll understand when you’re older. No matter, more important is that I’ve got your favourite back home— strawberry tarts.” It certainly got Cecil’s attention, but he clearly did not want to give in quite so easily, so he turned his head with a <em> ‘hmph.’ </em></p><p> </p><p>Cecil’s desire to ride would never diminish, and the more determined he seemed to be to commit what many would consider a <em> faux pas, </em> the more he reminded her of a particularly persistent squirrel. They never failed in pillaging her bird feeders and other garden items, no matter how much she tried to dissuade them. At some point she could not help but admire the animals, similarly to how she felt to Cecil.</p><p> </p><p>Undeterred, his father reached forward with flexing fingers, mischief crossing his features.</p><p> </p><p>“If you won’t come willingly.... You give me no choice but to give you a tickle attack!”</p><p> </p><p>Cecil let out a startled laugh, wiggling in his father’s sudden hold to get away. For a quick few seconds he looked at Milicent, almost pleadingly, but she broke out in a wide grin with her eyes shining in amusement, and she joined in on the tickling by jabbing at his side.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah—! Ahah, no, stoooop!” Cecil cried out in the midst of his boisterous laughter.</p><p> </p><p>After some more rolling around in the snow, her friend was soon perched on top of his father’s shoulders. Soon both their mothers joined them, and after the adults exchanged some pleasantries they began to depart. As Cecil’s parents walked towards their carriage he turned and waved at her.</p><p> </p><p>“Bye-bye, Mili! I’ll see you tomorrow!”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent bounced on her feet as she waved. “Yeah! Let’s have another snowball fight, or maybe go skating!”</p><p> </p><p>After that, her mother put her hand on her shoulder and the two of them returned to the palace. Milicent’s days mostly followed the same pattern in the early years of her youth. Breakfast, playtime with Cecil, reading and writing lessons, lunch, going to another noble’s house to be taught mathematics and other subjects alongside other girls, maybe having time for horse riding and other recreational activities followed by dinner and then bedtime. </p><p> </p><p>It was all so simple. So… cozy. Comfortable.</p><p> </p><p>Now, she wonders if she misses it. She is not so sure herself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Milicent presses her lips into a thin line. She hadn’t meant to daydream like that, but after her… she supposes she’d call it a confrontation… After her confrontation with Cecil she finds her mind wandering. Meandering over long dormant memories. When was the last time they played in the snow? Ah, it must have been just before he was sent to Charm School.</p><p> </p><p>...It really does feel like it was eons ago.</p><p> </p><p>They went from seeing each other every day to not hearing a peep from him… It <em> has </em> been seven years, so it was only natural that she would frankly cease thinking about him, but now those memories are burrowing their way to the surface and she feels even a sliver of guilt. Was there not a time when they exchanged letters? She finds herself surprised by the mere notion that they had indeed drifted apart, despite the fact she had plainly needed to actually see his face again to properly remember him.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps it is those memories that continue to stoke the fire within her. It simply galvanized her to seek Cecil out whenever she gets the chance, especially since she was just freed from a terribly dull meeting with other nobles about taxes.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent saunters under the trees as she makes her way through an old avenue. As the seasons came and went the avenue changed its colour palette. Currently the streets are gilded with gold from falling autumn leaves. Carriages pass her, and at times people— mostly starstruck men— will acknowledge and she in turn gives them a nod with a tip of her hat. She takes in a breath, relishing in the moistness in the air, and stops beside a rose bush. The flowers’ petals are beginning to fall, but they still appear to be good and healthy. Perfect gift for any man, really.</p><p> </p><p>Her <em> petit écureuil </em> soon makes his appearance. </p><p> </p><p>Something that is evidently controversial, considering some of the murmurs and gasps that occur when he passes bystanders. Milicent’s countenance is, for a brief moment, troubled due to some individuals giving him a few sufficiently rude side glances. The reason he garners seemingly unwanted attention is quite simple.</p><p> </p><p>He is riding a <em> vélocipède, </em> a more modern version. Most people call it a bicycle nowadays.</p><p> </p><p><em> Boneshaker, </em> Milicent ruminates idly. Upon bicycles gaining popularity it had gained such a nickname due to the belief that riding one would greatly rattle one’s innards and leave them vulnerable to everything from tuberculosis to gout. Now, such a belief is said in jest, though the assumption that men should not be riding such a thing continues to prevail.</p><p> </p><p>Some say a man’s physical pulchritude must be preserved, and the tense expression of concentration required for dodging carriages and bystanders, would ruin their beauty; and that the entire practice would make them bow legged from far too much pedaling. Such overly fatiguing activities tend to produce rheumatism, muscle inflammation and premature aging, and worst of all due to a man’s… <em> ahem, </em> reproductive organs being outside of their bodies cycling would endanger their fertility.</p><p> </p><p>Thus, most people believe that exercise must be restrained and non-violent. No biking or horse riding or anything of the sort for a male. It could irreversibly damage their fragile testes.</p><p> </p><p>...Now that she actually takes the moment to contemplate the idea, Milicent thinks it slightly absurd. Such a thing is truly a commonly held belief? Surely the human body is sturdier than that, regardless of someone’s sex… She’s gone through some physically demanding labour from mountaineering and returned home just dandy. Been injured here and there, too. In her mind, a man would indubitably be able to ride a bike without putting his fertility in jeopardy… Though she is not exactly privy to how truly delicate someone’s nether regions may be...</p><p> </p><p>Cecil looks completely unbothered by his cycling, and by the glances he receives. It is only when he sees her does a frown grace his expression. Despite the apparent displeasure he feels from merely looking at her, he stops his bicycle in front of her and Milicent greets him with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Cecil! So wonderful to see you so soon again. I must say I’m pleasantly surprised, I would have never expected a man to be interested in cycling, but you do it so well! Did your sister teach you?”</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t have the effect she was hoping for, because his frown deepens considerably.</p><p> </p><p>“I learned by myself. Is there anything else you’d like to remind me that I’m not supposed to be doing?” He bites out, and his disdain is made clear through how he glares at her. It is different from when he growled at her during the picnic— it feels infinitely more genuine and unlike before, Milicent is immediately aware that she’s overstepped a boundary.</p><p> </p><p>Right. She <em> just </em> reminisced over a memory about this. Cecil doesn’t like being reminded people have certain expectations of him as a man. <em> Of course, </em> she quickly thinks as she regains herself, <em> men like to feel validated. </em></p><p> </p><p>Yes. Cecil is different. She will need to beguile him on his own terms, naturally. </p><p> </p><p>“My apologies. I meant no disrespect,” she amends, still giving him a winning grin though his disdainful grimace does not lessen. “It was presumptuous of me to say such a thing— of course you’d be excellent at cycling. And, ah, no I would never dream of objecting to you doing something so mundane as cycling, either. That would be untoward of me.”</p><p> </p><p>He averts his gaze for a split second, though returns his eyes on just as quickly. His expression softens, though just barely, and he looks at her with a slight air of suspicion. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent has to resist letting out a laugh, instead she lifts a single brow. “Is a Duchess not allowed to walk in her own city?” Quickly deciding this to an opportune moment, she takes a step forward but not before picking a blood red white rose and taking in its heavenly fragrance. </p><p> </p><p>“Is it so wrong for me to step out of the palace for a moment and enjoy the roses before they wilt for the winter? Especially when I have the finest of all roses standing in front of me?” Another step makes her close enough that Cecil’s jaw clenches, “Is it so wrong for me to remain for a moment dazzled by a man that has never appeared so beautiful to me before, despite being dressed in a simple long cloak of crimson— the very same colour as the rose in my hand.”</p><p> </p><p>She speaks with a lofty air and at first she believes herself already successful in this challenge she’s given herself of seducing him when his lips part ever so slightly, his eyes reminiscent of a man who has been struck by cupid’s arrow. Curiously, he places one of his hands on top of his chest, and just as when he does so his scowl quickly returns.</p><p> </p><p>“How many men have you fed that exact same drivel? I have been a long suffering victim to your<em> l'imbécillité, </em> do not think me so simple that you could… could do whatever is it you are trying to achieve by saying a rehearsed line,” before she can so much as make a retort to that— it is not a rehearsed line, she swears on her honour as a lady!— he sneers.</p><p> </p><p>“Careful, <em> Mili,” </em> he grits out the nickname she has not heard for several years like it is a grave insult, “Roses grow thorns. You would be wise not to prick your finger.”</p><p> </p><p>Apparently now in a haste to get away from her, Cecil perches himself back onto his bicycle seat and begins pedaling away with more fervour than she's ever seen someone cycle before. Milicent lingers on the pavement, rose remaining in her hand, unaware of the stares she is receiving. </p><p> </p><p>She is surprised, but most of all, he sounded… a tad bit… hurt… Or is she imagining things?</p><p> </p><p>Sighing, she drops the rose and runs a hand through her hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm. I must have gravely offended him,” her brows pinch together in consternation, “Was it the bicycle comment…? I suppose it was something he was always sensitive about. Perhaps it was something else?”</p><p> </p><p>It is a thought she continues to mull over as the day passes, and it begets another bout of curiosity. What had happened to that young boy she once had snowball fights with?</p><p> </p><p>Just further motivation to seek him out and see what makes him tick.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent smiles.</p><p> </p><p>This might prove to be challenging and even a bit enjoyable. She always was quite partial to mysteries.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Be friendly, genial, convivial, intelligent. Especially when it came to dealing with men. That is what mother told her.</p><p> </p><p>There are many lessons Milicent took to heart, the makings of a true lady being one of them. She was a teenager now, and it was certainly time to begin learning how to be an adult of proper standing. <em> Friendly, genial, convivial, intelligent, </em> she repeated in her head as a pair of hands braided her long, thick hair.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes were closed in thought, and a musical voice made its way to her ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Falling asleep there?”</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps it was instinctual, but she snapped her eyes open and said, “Life is a long sleep and love is a dream.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a whistle, and Cecill’s hands paused for the briefest of seconds before continuing to braid her hair. “That’s fancy. Did you read that in a book?”</p><p> </p><p>She interrupted his movement by turning around with a twinkle in her eyes. It was midday and they sat upon a garden bench, one that was fashioned from a wind-felled tree, the legs being sections of the trunk still clothed in bark and the top was a fine long plank rendered a deep soulful brown by the varnish. A quaint, warm summer day meant the birds were singing their tunes at full force, and they were surrounded by a swarm of colourful blooming flowers.</p><p> </p><p>“Perish the thought! I’ll have you know that was completely original. It would be unladylike to plagiarize. And we don’t reuse lines, either!”</p><p> </p><p>Cecil tilted his head. “Then why did you say it?”</p><p> </p><p>She spread her arms wide, excitement filling her veins. “I’m being genial! Mother says that makes a good Duchess!”</p><p> </p><p>When he had blinked owlishly at her she leaned forward in glee. Something… swelled inside of her. A desire? Something to that effect— she certainly wished to be a good Duchess. <em> “Men enjoy being complimented,” </em> mother had advised one time. It was time to become an adult and this was the first step! She takes in the vanilla-citrus scent of the plumeria that surrounds them, which gives her a burst of energy.</p><p> </p><p>They had recently done some horse riding, having taken the horses far out in the gardens so that he was not seen by his parents. His desires to engage in supposed unmanly activities had lost its charm now that he was slowly becoming an adult. Now it was becoming a problem, though Cecil often steadfastly refused to discuss anything about it.</p><p> </p><p>So, in her mind, that gave her even further reason to do this. This was part of being convivial! To get his mind off things!</p><p> </p><p>“If I— If I had a flower every time I looked at you, I could walk forever in these gardens, but even then I would never be able to see a rose as beautiful as you.” She says quickly, stuttering at first, and as she would grow older she would learn to slow her voice, and to make it husky for just the right moments. She would additionally learn how to give specifics <em> looks </em> that apparently made men’s hearts race.</p><p> </p><p>Cecil’s eyes widened considerably, and even a light pink hue dotted his dark skin. He averted his gaze and apparently did not know what to do with his fidgety hands, so he scratched his cheek. He seemed just as unsure of what to say. “O-Oh… I, um… I see…”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent puffed out her chest. Mother said something like this was a good reaction, too! </p><p> </p><p><em> Intelligent, </em> she then reminds herself. Right, a woman must be a beacon of knowledge. Time for the next step!</p><p> </p><p>“Did you know that you can eat roses?”</p><p> </p><p>Out of befuddlement— or perhaps sheer amazement from her intelligence?!— Cecil returned to looking at her, his expression a mix of surprise and bashfulness. </p><p> </p><p>“The petals are edible, and when you soak petals in water you can use it as flavouring.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded slowly, almost hesitantly, as if taking in the new information. </p><p> </p><p>“...I see,” he repeated, and Milicent took it as a grand, sweeping victory. Mother would be so proud! </p><p> </p><p>But a lady wouldn’t end it there. </p><p> </p><p>Impishness flowed through her veins, and she waggles her fingers in front of him as she leaned in even further. “You look like a tasty rose, Cecil!”</p><p> </p><p>Before he could react, she descended upon his defenseless form with an attack of tickling. He squealed, bursting out a fit of spluttering laughter. At first he giggled slowly and warmly, reminding her of honey, and then he guffawed like thunder, deep and rumbling. </p><p> </p><p>She quite enjoyed the sound.</p><p> </p><p>From there on out, she used Cecil to… perfect her technique, as it were. Seeing what worked and what did not for a man, they certainly had some curious sensibilities. She relished in giving him attention and for a time he seemed completely at a loss with how to take her words. </p><p> </p><p>And then as she grew older Milicent was being introduced to a great many sons of other noble families. Naturally, she gave them attention as well. Mother had mentioned something about wrapping them around her finger. She didn’t quite understand the concept— she just assumed it meant making people enjoy her company.</p><p> </p><p>It would only be much later would she notice that Cecil seemed less enthused by her flattery.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>...Perchance this is not as much of a mystery as Milicent initially thought.</p><p> </p><p>He was indeed a long suffering ‘victim’ to her wiles, she muses, even if he seemed to respond favourably at first. Now in her mid-twenties she has become long acquainted with the fact that men were often jealous creatures.</p><p> </p><p>Still… She has never had a man be so outwardly hostile to her… And continue to be so, even after a month passing since she saw him at the picnic. How is she meant to charm someone who refuses to be charmed? Hrm… Well, a Duchess does not give up! She’ll get him one way or another.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t think she’s chased a man like this before. Or quite felt this strongly about it. There is a warmth in her chest whenever she so much as spends an idle thought on him. Milicent wonders what it means. She believes it would be nice if he could braid her hair again… or if they could enjoy a snowball fight one more time…</p><p> </p><p>“Duchess! Quit your daydreaming for a second, yeah? You’re going to miss out on the entire hunt.”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent blinks to see Corinne giving her a wry smile as she sits atop her horse. The two of them wear a matching outfit of a glossy cherry red coat with white pants, paired with almost knee high boots. Milicent’s horse, which has since begun grazing due to her daydreaming, is a rich cream colour and she tightens her hold on the reins. Danette is with them too, in the same outfit, though she leads the charge as the Master of the foxhounds.</p><p> </p><p>They have about ten hounds with them, all inexperienced. The autumn months are used to teach the younger hounds and to cull weaker foxes. </p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, Milicent is not exactly fond of the practice of fox hunting. She sighs, her thoughts drifting off for a second time, mostly in an attempt to distract herself from the blood sport she is participating in.</p><p> </p><p>When she sighs she jutted her bottom lip out, redirecting the air-flow to her long bangs. For that brief moment her black hair fans upwards before resettling just over her eyes. <em> Aaah… Mon petit écureuil... </em></p><p> </p><p>“Why are men so complicated?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oho? All that playing around with them finally coming back to bite you?” A cocksure grin etches its way to Corinne’s lips. Milicent shoots her a disapproving look. She’s not <em> playing </em> around with anyone. As the days pass by she’s unsure if <em> she </em> isn’t the one that is being cavorted around like a puppet on its strings. </p><p> </p><p>“You make me sound so heartless,” Milicent sniffs contemptuously, “I’ll have you know that I am very careful with how I act around with men. There is no karmic justice to be had.”</p><p> </p><p><em> It is not my fault I am the way I am… </em>She thinks derisively. </p><p> </p><p>Corinne’s smile fades. “This is really eating up at you, huh. Been a while since I’ve seen you put out. And probably the first time it’s because of a man.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am aware of the fact that men have a tendency to hold onto long grudges. But I’ve never had a man have such palpable disdain for me for so long. And what does Cecil have to be envious for? It’s not as though his family is lacking in wealth. Why would he become so agitated just because I made merry with another man? The most that has ever happened to me was when a man threw himself in my arms as he lamented that I was not interested in marrying him...” Milicent’s voice tapers off to the mumble at the end of her question, though it is still heard by Corinne. Danette, too, if the glance she exchanges with Corinne is anything to go by.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Bon sang,” </em> Danette says with an exasperated sigh. “I understand why they also call you the <em> clueless </em> man-eater.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not as though I don’t understand your confusion, Duchess. I am still reeling from his rudeness from the picnic. And that was a month ago!” Corinne adds.</p><p> </p><p>“Once you get to my age, you’ll know exactly what that sort of behaviour means. Some men take it to the wire. They look for a confrontation because they want a good smack.”</p><p> </p><p>With that… vaguely ominous comment, Danette chortles softly, leaving both Milicent and Corinne feel at a bit of a loss of where this conversation is headed. Though evidently, Milicent is more lost, because she feels as though she isn’t privy to some sort of elaborate joke that is being played against her. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The clueless man-eater… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With a huff, the three of them continue riding their horses with a pack of eager hounds. </p><p> </p><p>It does not take long for Milicent to merely separate herself from the group, saying, “My mind has been preoccupied as of late. I wish to think by myself for a while.”</p><p> </p><p>It is both as a means to avoid fox hunting, and to genuinely have some time for herself. The dogs becoming disorderly can be heard in the distance, gradually getting softer the more her horse trots away, and soon the only thing she hears steady hooves hitting the ground. She allows herself to be carried by her horse as she crosses her arms, her finger impatiently tapping her forearm.</p><p> </p><p>“Just what, pray tell, am I clueless about?”</p><p> </p><p>Suffice to say, this is quickly becoming a mystery she is not very fond of.</p><p> </p><p>A burst of movement suddenly attracts her eyes to the white tip of a tail just peeking out from the sea of bush leaves that makes up this part of the forest. Her horse, briefly startled, takes a tentative step backwards from the creature, careful not to make a sound as to startle it. The fox turns its head quickly as it sees a curious horse, Milicent sits frozen as it seems to appraise her, sizing her up with its honey coloured eyes. Though just as quickly as it began, and In a flash of copper, the fox is gone as it scurries away into the underbrush.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps fox hunting etiquette calls for her to whistle to alert her fellow hunters and hounds.</p><p> </p><p>But, well, the dogs are inexperienced and she isn’t sure they’d be able to catch the animal... That is her excuse for not whistling, anyhow. No one needs to know she let their quarry run free.</p><p> </p><p>Though the animal had taken her out of her thoughts, and her eyes trail to where it ran off she realizes she’s near a river she did not even hear. The river is a ribbon of living turquoise, boldly flowing amid the green of the forest. It is a body of water she is well acquainted with seeing how she’s been in this thicket countless times before, but… there is something… different about it.</p><p> </p><p>She smells the freshness of soap.</p><p> </p><p>And soon there is a glint of something that shines in her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Curiosity gets the best of her, and she dismounts her horse to approach the shining object. She comes to the quick realization that it’s a ring in pristine condition— all silver, except for the green gem that sparkles with the reflection of the beautiful river that flows endlessly beside it. </p><p> </p><p>It matches a certain someone’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent breath stutters, brows furrowing. Looking into this emerald the only thing that rushes into her thoughts is a man with natural shimmering lips and baby soft skin, a man who she would sneak into the barn with just so he could have a moment to ride a bicycle or a horse if they felt daring enough, a man who was a fierce competitor for snowball fights but never stood a chance when it came to tickling, a man who— who—</p><p> </p><p>Who she had given this ring to.</p><p> </p><p>A man who alights more than just desire in her veins. There is something more… abstract flowing through her now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Mon petit écureuil. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She’s called him that before, didn’t she?</p><p> </p><p><em> I… </em> She grimaces from her growing bewilderment, <em> I… remember…? Remember what? Did I forget something…? </em></p><p> </p><p>The very next thing she is forced to realize very, <em> very </em>swiftly is that the ring is perched upon a pile of neatly folded garments.</p><p> </p><p>And that there is a reason the river smells like soap.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent sucks in a sharp breath when wet, naked skin is suddenly exposed to her. Right there, his lower half submerged and unseen in the water— <em> Dieu merci!— </em> is Cecil frozen in place, apparently having been in the midst of washing his hair before she interrupted him.</p><p> </p><p>Gawking wouldn't quite describe her state. She is shocked, stunned, flabbergasted, amazed, wonderstruck, mesmerized by his physique— lithe like a gymnast. Not for the first time she finds herself comparing his bodice to a sculptor’s masterpiece, his muscles giving definition under his beautiful brown skin.</p><p> </p><p>She does not dare give his face a glimpse, lest she wants to spontaneously combust under his undoubtedly furious glare. </p><p> </p><p>Though she feels as though she might just spontaneously combust anyway, if the heat on her cheeks is any indication. With a speed that feels like it’s going to snap her neck, she turns around, the tips of her ears bearing a slight rosiness but she manages to utter out a comment.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Mon—” </em> She coughs, stopping herself from calling him <em> écureuil, </em> the word feeling far too intimate on her tongue now, as though it would be a declaration of… more amorous feelings she is certain she does not truly have… though she is finding herself more and more unsure of such a fact.</p><p> </p><p>A heavy silence settles over them, thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Her unsettled eyes glances unceremoniously across the bushes and trees. She shifts uncomfortably on her feet, her nervous hands flexing and she realizes she is still holding onto his ring. It has a chain the finger hole, and she belatedly realizes that this is likely worn as a necklace rather than a ring.</p><p> </p><p>The image of Cecil placing his hand above his chest when she spoke to him in the middle of an avenue suddenly comes to mind. <em> Ah. </em> He was probably wearing this beneath his clothes.</p><p> </p><p>Her mind a muddled, incomprehensible mess, her mouth moves before she is able to give it much thought.</p><p> </p><p>“If there is a higher power responsible for the creation of the world, then they must have taken emeralds and made your eyes out of such splendid gems.”</p><p> </p><p>Aha… yes… genial, convivial and other such things… It is familiar. It feels like a safety net for her retreat to, and she can feel herself calming… slightly. Somewhat.</p><p> </p><p>Though Cecil’s hitched breath makes her heartrate pitch up considerably.</p><p> </p><p>“That was the same thing you said when you first gave me that ring,” His voice is uncharacteristically mellow, almost melancholic, though a hint of amusement can be heard when next he says, “I thought you said ladies do not reuse lines.”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent frowns. She has no recollection of saying such a thing—</p><p> </p><p>When she blinks, she sees the image of a train, but it disappears as soon as it arrives.</p><p> </p><p>Confusion now the predominant feeling she’s currently experiencing, she decides she must make due with another safety net.</p><p> </p><p>“It is inadvisable to bathe in a river. Soaps and shampoos contain phosphorus and that mixes very poorly for the surrounding environment.”</p><p> </p><p>She can practically hear the blush in his voice, if that were even possible.</p><p> </p><p>“I— er, I wouldn’t bathe here normally! The water pipes in my home broke!”</p><p> </p><p>On any other occasion she would think it delightful with how his voice cracks.</p><p> </p><p>“And there are many facilities you can use if you cannot clean yourself in your own home,” she says, “...There is really no need to bathe in a river. You are technically trespassing.” For a moment, she considers waxing poetic about his body, but she doubts such a comment would be appreciated given the current circumstance.</p><p> </p><p>There is frustration in his voice now.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmph. Yes, yes, I am aware. Just… go! Leave! Give me some privacy, you pervert!”</p><p> </p><p><em> Men, </em> she thinks, <em> they are a convoluted sort indeed. </em></p><p> </p><p>Milicent takes a tentative step back to put the ring back on his clothes, and a niggling sense that she missed something gravely important cements itself inside her.</p><p> </p><p>She leaves the riverbed as expeditiously as possible.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Apparently my parents have finally had enough of me doing things they disapprove of.”</p><p> </p><p>That was what Cecil had said when he announced he would depart for Charm School. The sarcasm in his voice was palpable, and despite his obvious chagrin he said he felt no ill will towards his parents. He knew his antics— though harmless in both his and Milicent’s eyes— would bring in untoward whispers and rumours from other noble families. His parents genuinely believed this was for his own good, and he did not hold it against them.</p><p> </p><p>Though that didn’t stop him from continuing to cycle even after returning home, apparently resilient to whatever he had been taught the past seven years in Charm School. </p><p> </p><p>“People call me wayward. I like being wayward,” he said before he boarded the train, “I’ll survive whatever they throw at me at this school.”</p><p> </p><p>Of course, him departing Estielart included more than just that.</p><p> </p><p>Try as he might to be nonchalant, it was obvious to Milicent that he was beginning to feel jittery about leaving home for the first time in his life. Here he was, a man of nineteen, being sent off to a new, foreign environment. Him and his parents had said their goodbyes amicably, and his bags were already packed in the train. Cecil and Milicent stood there on the platform facing one another, the noises of the other passengers muffled like a distant dream.</p><p> </p><p>The train in of itself was a spectacle. Brightly coloured white and black with gilded golden accents. On the roof of the front of the train there were three rich gilded sculptures of proud looking eagles that represented the tentative alliance between their nation, Emesviel, and two others, Asnain and the Republic of Anavelle, and there were many more elaborate carvings that decorated the outside of the train, and inside she knew the interior was lined with velvet and satin.</p><p> </p><p>The very picture of luxury. And yet, Milicent only kept her eyes on the man before her. It was snowing lightly, with some snowflakes dotting his dark hair, and he hid his mouth and nose under a thick scarf. If they were younger, and if they were under different circumstances, she thinks they would have had a snowball fight.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at him, she felt a stab of guilt. Men are meant to learn from women. <em> She must be an example of which a man may learn from, for him to attire himself in all modest discretion and conversation, </em>mother had said. Was this then her fault? Cecil was easily the one man she consistently had in her company the most, and yet everyone calls him disobedient. Was she not the beacon of knowledge she must aspire to be? Had she failed her duty as a future Duchess?</p><p> </p><p>“You appear more upset about this than I am,” his voice brought her back to him, and he squinted his eyes as he looked away, hand keeping his scarf in place. “Don’t— Don’t get all morose on me now. It’s troublesome.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh— yes, the atmosphere is much too melancholic. That simply won’t do.</p><p> </p><p>With perhaps too much haste than she would like to admit, Milicent dug into her pocket, soon producing an emerald studded ring she had procured from the finest jewelers. It is simple in its elegance, but stunning all the same. </p><p> </p><p>“If there is a higher power responsible for the creation of the world, then they must have taken emeralds and made your eyes out of such splendid gems.” She said, gently taking his hand and slipping the ring onto his finger with ease. Perhaps it is the growing cold that made Cecil bury his face further into his scarf.</p><p> </p><p>“Something to help you remind you of the great affinity I have for you, even if we shall remain apart for some time now.”</p><p> </p><p>He examines the ring, eyes gleaming like the gem. “Affinity, huh… Is there… anything else you’d like to add to that? Maybe… something a little more specific?” For a moment he sounded breathless, but Milicent chalked it up to half his face being muffled by the garment wrapped around his neck.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent huffed a laugh. “My! Is <em> mon petit écureuil </em>questioning the fondness I hold for him? What more must I do to convince you my feelings are real?”</p><p> </p><p>“‘My little squirrel’?” He repeated, slightly exasperated though there is no dissatisfaction in his voice or features. In fact, he appears to quite enjoy the newly appointed nickname as he finally pulls down the scarf and reveals a small grin playing on his lips. “I suppose I can allow you to call me that... as long as you do not call anyone else that.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a strange sense of finality in the way he said that.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but of course! If a lady uses a nickname she must assure that she uses something unique for every man she comes across, to truly highlight how exceptional each of them are.”</p><p> </p><p>His smile fell so quickly that for a moment she wondered whether he had grinned in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>Cecil rolled his eyes, muttering, “Of course, you probably give rings to other men too,” he takes the ring of his finger, and before she can protest the act and insist that no, she hasn’t actually given a single gift to anyone but him, he waves his hand to cut her off. “Relax, I’ll keep your trinket. I’ll just… wear it as a necklace.”</p><p> </p><p>He buried half his face under the scarf again, “It’s not like I want this ring or anything… I’ll wear it in a way that no one can see it, is all... I don’t want to embarrass myself by needing to explain where it came from in case someone asks.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite the crudeness in his words, Milicent’s lips formed into a lopsided grin. She looked upon him fondly as he looked away, uttering the word ‘affinity’ again, though it was soft and clearly to himself. They exchange more pleasantries, which often ends with him making another sarcastic remark and her laughing it off. She dollops him with endless compliments, probably more so than what is necessary, but she decides she’s making up for the years that will be lost between them.</p><p> </p><p>Soon enough however, he boarded the train.</p><p> </p><p>The shrill whistle of the platform master signified it was about to leave, and Cecil gave her a small wave through his window. It did not take long for it to pick up speed, and she saw him mouth the word <em> ‘adieu’ </em> at her. </p><p> </p><p>And just like that, he was gone, in a scant few seconds despite them knowing each other their entire lives. What was Charm School like? Would he walk down the street feeling rough cracks through thin soles, the wind moving as if he weren’t there at all, as if he were a ghost and nothing more? Through closed windows came a jangle of tunes, all of them with as much flow as ice. And all at once the air was water and <em> her </em> Cecil will be drowning in this sea of indifference, desperate to swim up beyond cloudy skies to the stars above, a horribly suffocating indifference because she had given him the most pathetic excuse of a goodbye and he was going to be stuck somewhere he didn’t want to be in because he wanted to ride a blasted bicycle. He needed <em> more </em> than a ring and pretty words.</p><p> </p><p>Except.</p><p> </p><p>Except she was not indifferent to his plight.</p><p> </p><p>And she was not about to let him leave thinking that.</p><p> </p><p>So she <em> ran. </em></p><p> </p><p>Her legs moved on their own. In a few seconds she felt like her muscles were burning and she nearly slipped in the process, but she soldiered through the cold wind and moved side to side to avoid the bewildered crowd. Cecil’s eyes widened considerably when she kept up pace with the train, but she knew that would not last long.</p><p> </p><p>So with every bout of energy she had left in her, she gave a great big shout.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll send you letters—!! Every month! I swear it!”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes became moist, and in his hands she could see he was tightly clutching onto the ring as if it were the most precious thing in the world. His mouth parted, a surge of emotions washing over his features, but she did not hear what he said— because he was suddenly out of earshot. Milicent was forced to stop at the end of the platform and the train barreled past her.</p><p> </p><p>Standing there, completely winded, Milicent thought of two things.</p><p> </p><p>First, there was a vague sense of regret she could not shake off.</p><p> </p><p>Second, she really needed to get her body in better shape.</p><p> </p><p>Not knowing what to do with the first realization, she began trying to address the second. She looked into sports to try, and soon enough, she began an interest in rock climbing that soon evolved into mountaineering.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Her mind finally feels clear lucidity, if only for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent’s study is bathed in the low light given by the reading lamp on her desk and the fireplace. There’s an old report she has since lost the interest in reading as she tiredly rubs her temples. Outside, she sees millions of snowflakes fall from a limitless sky, and the wind howls in a low pitch and the flora of the forest sways in a dance.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Aah… I really do… like him… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The admittance feels… different. It is not the same as saying she has an affinity. It feels more tangible. More <em> real. </em> And yet, it is superseded by a gnawing guilt.</p><p> </p><p>She <em> had </em> sent letters. She distinctly remembers that now. And he had sent his own.</p><p> </p><p>But she… but she had stopped at some moment in time. She remembers that, too.</p><p> </p><p>Tersely, her eyes glance at the boxes of correspondences sitting in the corner of her study. They were overflowing with a deluge of letters, some of which have been scented with so much perfume she can smell them from where she sits. Milicent brings her hand to her face, nibbling on her thumb like a nervous toddler.</p><p> </p><p>At some point after Cecil had left, her mother passed. With that, came the inheritance of her title as Duchess, and alongside that came the truly neverending messages sent her way. Be it love letters or missives regarding eminent matters that required her attention… She was, and is, well and truly inundated. </p><p> </p><p>And so she… forgot about him…</p><p> </p><p>Her chair nearly topples over when she stands abruptly, quicking walking to the boxes of letters and rummaging through the pile that had been marked as unimportant by her advisor. Her heart beats thunderously in her chest, and once she reaches near the bottom she inhales sharply.</p><p> </p><p>On an enclosed envelope, she sees the sender’s address.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Cecil Richelieu </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Summerfield Charm School for Wayward Boys Dormitory #56 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cathaneau, Emesviel </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Addressed to Duchess Milicent du Maurier of Estielart </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then she sees it is dated a mere five months ago. <em> Five months. </em> She hasn’t sent a letter in <em> years. </em>Further investigation reveals that Cecil had not missed a single month when it came to messaging her, only for him to go unanswered time and time again.</p><p> </p><p>Her lower lip quivers, and yet she smiles at the thought of how strongly worded his writings to her must have come over time. She does not dare open them, not now. She doesn’t feel as though she has the right. And she is simply terrified of the contents. Milicent exhales a shaky breath, sitting down on the floor as she is sure she will crumble to the ground if she attempts to stand any longer. </p><p> </p><p>Her head begins to throb, and her throat constricts.</p><p> </p><p>“I am… c-clueless indeed…” She chokes out, and while self-deprecation threatens to overwhelm her, there is a spark that alights in her veins.</p><p> </p><p>There is something else she needs to know, and at the crack of dawn she departs from her estate in hopes of finding a truth she realizes has been eluding her all this time.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Milicent paces tirelessly on the fur carpet of the waiting room of Corinne’s estate. She thinks the ticking of a wall mounted clock is going to make her go insane if she is forced to wait another half hour. Even the servants have barely awoken for the day, occasionally yawning with haggard steps.</p><p> </p><p>“Mil— Duchess Milicent,” she hears Corinne say drowsily above the banister of the stairs, “...Do what, ugh it’s so early, do what do I owe the pleasure…?”</p><p> </p><p>She fixes her friend with a steadfast gaze, though her words give away the impatience and desperation that she is currently enduring.</p><p> </p><p>“Was there ever a moment when I hit my head when we went mountaineering?”</p><p> </p><p>Corinne blinks, then rubs her eyes. “...Eh..?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please, I know it’s early, but I must know. Did I ever hit my head? An injury more substantial from what we usually experience. Perhaps from a few years ago even?” </p><p> </p><p>Her expression must be twinged with desolation, because Corinne very quickly becomes more awake. The woman furrows her brows, and after a few seconds that feel like centuries, she nods.</p><p> </p><p>“...Yes, I remember something like that. You slipped and fell a few feet. Nothing too extraneous, but you were unconscious for some minutes and there was a small amount of blood. When you came to you couldn’t remember what had happened, but after assessing you and speaking with you for a bit, you seemed fine other than that.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Ah. <em> Ah. </em></p><p> </p><p>Milicent’s mind is afforded further clarity. She remembers waking up from that ordeal— she could not remember what had happened, but she did not experience profound memory loss. Or that is what they all thought at the time. She remembered who she was. She remembered where she was from. She remembered what she was doing.</p><p> </p><p>She remembered what Corinne and Danette asked her.</p><p> </p><p>They did not ask her about Cecil. Neither of them knew him, so why would they?</p><p> </p><p>And so, they went on as normal, and what memories she <em> did </em> retain pittered out as her attention was usually diverted to her duties as Duchess, and he became another hazy, barely discernible face in a sea of men who were constantly in and out of her periphery.</p><p> </p><p>That is, until that picnic when she actually saw him in person for the first time, and everything came surging back.</p><p> </p><p>Her lapse in memory might not excuse the neglect Cecil no doubt experienced because of her, but it does lessen the pang of guilt. </p><p> </p><p>And it further rejuvenates her undying longing— a longing to see him as soon as she’s able, and to make things <em> right. </em></p><p> </p><p>She bows, something that clearly catches Corinne off guard, “Thank you, dear friend! Remind me to order you a lifetime supply of that lemon ginger tea you are so fond of. Goodbye! I must make haste! There is a man waiting for me—!!”</p><p> </p><p>Without waiting for a response, Milicent turns her heel sprints back into the snow laden street. The entire time she runs she has a smile that reaches her ears.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Her feet pounds the wet snow, and perhaps in her youth she would have balked at sprinting so far and quickly, but now she relishes in the prospect of making her muscles burn. Her head bobs loosely from side to side with each footfall and her breath comes out of her mouth in wisps. Where is he? Where is Cecil? Perhaps he’s taking an early bicycle ride.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent moves on instinct, her legs taking her towards Cecil’s estate. Yes, she definitely remembers where that is! </p><p> </p><p>This morning is not gray, but a soothing lavender and brilliant amber. The colours merge into a scintillating mix of pink and peach. And she would not accept anything else! For a day as grand as this, the backdrop to her and Cecil’s <em> true </em> reunion must be the finer than the stroke from a master painter’s brush. She will apologize, and tell him of her most unfortunate lapse of memory, and then… and then…!!</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my, Duchess Milicent! Out for a morning jog? I suppose you must keep that body in tip top shape when you are not scaling mountains, hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>With a skid, she is forced to stop when a young lad promptly gets in her way. Proprietary forces her to stay where she is, though she bounces her feet in impatience as a man with rosy cheeks and blond hair speaks with her. He is… What is his name… Try as she might to dig into the recesses of her mind, the only thing she can think of is <em> Cecil, Cecil, Cecil. </em></p><p> </p><p>She nods stiffly. “Yes. Good morning, Seigneur. The morning air was just so crisp and refreshing so I thought it prudent to use that to my advantage lest another downpours assails us later.”</p><p> </p><p>The man clasps his hands together excitedly, “Oh! Are you already training for your next conquest? It’s so admirable how dedicated you are to your craft.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, she supposes she does have a slightly peculiar conquest in mind.</p><p> </p><p>“The conservatory just received a new flock of birds from the East. I’ve heard they are fascinating and strange, perhaps we can visit it today,” he bats his eyes, “Just the two of us?”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent’s lips twitch in a smile, one she hopes does not appear as fake as it feels like.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, of course, whatever you would like. However I am in a hurry—”</p><p> </p><p>He grabs onto her sleeve, making her shoulders tense though her smile does not waver when he looks at with almost imploring eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Why not <em> right now, </em> Duchess Milicent? They really do say the birds look stunning, and afterwards we take a gander at the newest exhibit at the natural history museum… They have an abundance of new fossils, some of which are the ones you procured from Aurinesse! It would be most excellent if we could avoid any crowds…”</p><p> </p><p>She bites her inner cheek, seeing how his face reddens and for a moment she believes he presses his thighs together. <em> There is a fire in my loins, </em> he practically declares with his body. It is clear he wishes for her to initiate something more than just a simple date.</p><p> </p><p>That, quite frankly, causes a slight panic to swirl within her.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent decides she needs to leave this man momentarily starstruck in order to weasel her way out of his grasp without terribly offending him. She narrows her eyes, cat-like and seductive, reaching forward to tuck an errant strand of hair behind his blushing ear. He makes a noise between a squeak and an excited inhale.</p><p> </p><p>“My dear Seigneur…” She still cannot recall his name, her mind only crying out for Cecil, “Ahem, I am sure the delights of the conservatory and the museum will be paltry in comparison to your angelic visage. But would it not be more exciting if we… abide our time? To leave our meetings at these establishments to spontaneity…? Would that not make it all the more exciting? After all, love is like the wind, you never know where it will come from— agah?!”</p><p> </p><p>Her face is suddenly assaulted with a single barrage of damp iciness. </p><p> </p><p>The man in front of her gasps, and it takes several seconds for her to register that had just been pelted with a single snowball. She dusts the snowflakes from her brows and lashes, grimacing, fixing her furious gaze upon this impertinent stranger—</p><p> </p><p>Ah. It is not a stranger again.</p><p> </p><p>If she had thought she looked angry, her expression is meager in comparison to the burning inferno raging in Cecil’s entire being. His eyes are narrowed, rigid, cold, hard, flashing with indigance, much like lightning in a pitch black night.</p><p> </p><p>Though there is… disappointment in the midst of his growing animosity… And that cuts deeper than any blade.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent takes a step forward, “Ah— Cecil—”</p><p> </p><p><em> “Ta gueule, </em> you insufferable churl!” He roars, pointing at her furiously, “Meet me near the river at noon. Don’t you dare be late! Hmph!” </p><p> </p><p>She did not particularly enjoy the crestfallen tone that is mixed with the fury in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>With a speed that spoke only of graceless haste, Cecil picks up his bicycle which had fallen when he apparently dismounted it to attack her with snow, and he cycles off with gritted teeth and a white-knuckle grip on his handlebars. </p><p> </p><p>She stands there, awestruck yet supremely disappointed in herself at the same time, watching his retreating form before he swerves around a corner and becomes unseen. Milicent is wholeheartedly rendered speechless, and even while the other man attempts to speak to her she does not listen. She even shakes herself from her grasp and begins to walk. Where to, she does not yet, but she could certainly use a cup of tea, she thinks. She needs time to ruminate, and Cecil needs time to thaw out his anger.</p><p> </p><p>She walks, and despite her causing him undue stress— now she wonders if she’ll need to grovel for forgiveness— she feels a hint of a smile gracing her features. Perhaps she should thank him for rescuing her from an awkward situation.</p><p> </p><p>Regardless, she feels a latent excitement, a feeling that only increases the closer to noon it becomes.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The babble of the river keeps her mind at ease, though her heart beats erratically. There are a fair amount of bodies of water that run through Estielart, though something tells her Cecil specifically meant the one where she, <em> ahem, </em> interrupted his bathing.</p><p> </p><p>The rays of the sun filter through the dead and dying leaves. It provides a warm glow amidst the chill of the winter day. It is a small comfort, if anything. </p><p> </p><p>And she is right in her initial assumption, as soon she sees Cecil’s back turned towards her. Even from here she can see him fiddling with something in his hands, perhaps his ring? That thought alone is enough for a spike of tension to attack her muscles. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath, deciding it would be prudent to dispel the uneasiness in the air with a casual comment.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, are you here to challenge me to a snowball fight? It has been some time since we waged war. I wonder if our techniques have changed or if our reflexes have dulled at all, but it would be a fierce battle all the same, do you not agree?”</p><p> </p><p>The <em> growl </em> that comes out of him when he turns to face her tells her he is not at all responsive to the idea of nonchalant banter. His expression is fixed in a scowl, and she raises her hands in a placating manner as she continues to approach him.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent swallows thickly, “I can only assume what you may be thinking, but please, allow me to explain myself—”</p><p> </p><p>“I have had enough of trying to be subtle. Clearly I must take matters into my own hands.”</p><p> </p><p>Her life flashes before her eyes when he takes a step forward, then another, then another. Oh, now would be the most opportune moment for her to pick a god and pray—</p><p> </p><p>Divine retribution from a scorned man apparently takes the form of him smashing his lips against hers.</p><p> </p><p>An innumerable amount of thoughts are condensed in this single, electrifying moment. The two of them seem to move on instinct as she grants him access to her mouth and his tongue moves over hers, and there is a wanton, needy passion that transcends the works of all the great poets combined. She is starstruck, unable to do anything else but to reciprocate his kiss, though her hands remain frozen by her side. </p><p> </p><p>She thinks her heart might burst.</p><p> </p><p>When they part she leans in, already lamenting the loss of his lips. Then, she stares at him in awe, briefly unsure if this is actually real. Perhaps she is still unconscious from hitting her head? Is this an elaborate dream? A <em> ruse? </em>Is reality going to sink in at any moment? </p><p> </p><p>Kissing him is everything she ever could have dreamed of, and so much more. Perhaps awe is far too underwhelming of a word to describe everything, she feels her lips stretch wide into a gaping grin and her eyebrows arch for the sky. </p><p> </p><p>She is utterly bewitched by the man before her. The blazing heat on her face makes her clothes feel far too warm, and she tugs on the collar of her coat. “O-Oh my,” she swallows in a vain attempt to gather herself, “T-That was… ahaha...” Oh, god, her mind is pulling in wildly different directions as she stutters and squeaks and giggles like a buffoon, the heat on her face only increasing with each failed response.</p><p> </p><p>When Cecil’s smile borders on <em> smug </em>she splutters out a coherent response.</p><p> </p><p>“V-Very lovely… Truly the loveliest taste to ever grace my lips. But, ah, as exquisite as that was, I really must clear the air of any grievances and misunderstandings.”</p><p> </p><p>He rolled his eyes, cheeks puffed out in a slight petulant pout and Milicent held her tongue on calling him adorable. “You’re still not getting it? Do I have to spell it out?” His face reddens considerably, and while he points at her with his other hand on his hip, he averts his eyes, “Remember saying that I was trying to scare everyone away so that I could have you all to yourself? W-Well, you were right about that!”</p><p> </p><p>The pitch in his voice heightens a tad, “And when that didn’t work I went as far as to b-bathe in the river to catch your eye! To show you I hold far greater physical attributes than your would be suitors!”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent blinks in quick succession, and when his words finally take root in her mind she can only think of one thing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Men are remarkably simple creatures. They do not know how to express the feelings that swell inside them, and yet they desperately try to convey them nonetheless. Utterly hopeless. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And he’s yet to actually declare his true feelings. Well, that goes doubly for her, it would seem.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Clueless and hopeless… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It starts with a snort, then her shoulders tremble, and soon Milicent is laughing uproariously. “That— That was you attempting to be subtle! I see!” she pauses, softly doubling over with a gentle pat to her right leg, “We are both fools, you and I!”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes are wrenched shut from the laughing that continues to flow out from her, but from his voice she can tell Cecil’s face is probably warmer than the surface of the sun.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I-I-It was subtle enough that it didn’t get through your thick skull!” </p><p> </p><p>When she is finally able to regain a semblance of composure, she wipes the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, and she sees him glaring at her. Though he looks about as threatening as a kitten that hasn’t been given enough attention by its master. Once again, she raises her hands to appease him.</p><p> </p><p>“Make no mistake, I am not mocking you. I am merely… taking my time to catch up with the situation. A lot has happened in a scant amount of time, <em> mon petit écureuil.” </em></p><p> </p><p>His expression softens when she calls him squirrel, his eyes becoming bashful, and he presses the tips of both his index fingers together shyly. “I was hoping you would have stayed and watched when I was in the river.”</p><p> </p><p>Now her thoughts screech to a halt as bewilderment takes over.</p><p> </p><p>“You told me to leave!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I— I thought you would have hid somewhere and appreciated me from afar…”</p><p> </p><p>“Cecil, I may be called a man-eater but I am not a <em> fiend.” </em></p><p> </p><p>The sheer absurdity of everything aside, Milicent exhales heavily, and the two of them look at one another in earnest after an awkward chuckle. Goodness, she has the distinct feeling that the two of them are going in the utterly wrong order for this sort of thing. If the authors of those ‘How-To-Seduce’ publications she had religiously read witnessed her now they would likely arrange a mutiny to take her title of Duchess away from her.</p><p> </p><p>With the excitement settling down, she can finally do what she intended, though the tingle from his kiss still lingers. Her cheeks remain warm.</p><p> </p><p>“Cecil, dear, I must apologize for my bullheadedness.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bullheaded is certainly an understatement.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, well, I do have a thick skull as you so astutely observed,” she says with a grin, “But it was not thick enough to protect me from a fall.”</p><p> </p><p>And with that, she relays to him about the fall she had sustained some time ago. </p><p> </p><p>“I do not want this to seem like an excuse. I am truly sorry about neglecting your letters, and my overall lack of common sense. It was not once ever my intention to cause you trouble. I will see to it that it never occurs again. You have my word on my honour as a Duchess.” She amends, “If you find this difficult to believe… well… There are times I have difficulty with it as well.”</p><p> </p><p>Cecil’s mouth is formed in a slight frown, though the corner of his lips twitch upwards.</p><p> </p><p>“I see… That makes sense… When I watched you stare at the ring I could see you recognizing it. Like you remembering something important… At first I was confused, but I think I understand now.” He places his hand on his chest, “I never… I never stopped wearing this, you know. Not once,” he shrugs, “Well, except when I was bathing, I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>The fierceness of his blush has since abated, though a slight hue of pink remains. Milicent finds herself further appreciating his, well, his everything, really. Never had she seen a more perfect individual and when she traces her lips her heart skips a beat. She had never felt this way before, either, could this be what they call…?</p><p> </p><p><em> “Je t’aime,” </em> she declares, the action surprising even herself, and with each utterance her voice becomes louder and more sure, “I love you like the nascent leaves of spring love warmth; I love you like the ancients loved the night sky; I love you like a cool draught of water on a summer's day…!”</p><p> </p><p>The stream of affirmations make him <em> squirm. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Y-You… ever the f-flirt…”</p><p> </p><p>She grasps his shoulders, her smile beaming. <em> “Mon petit écureuil! Mon amour! </em>If my words do not convince you… they say the only true language is a kiss… It is not my turn to shed away my subtlety! Hah! May I?”</p><p> </p><p>With it apparently being his turn to lose every ounce of bravado in his system, he merely nods fitfully.</p><p> </p><p>Truth be told, Milicent isn’t certain whether she is a good kisser or not… But Cecil gives her no protest. She kisses him avidly, a deep, latent hungry slowly awakening. The sounds of the river, the birds, the small mammals scurrying in the bush all melt and become part of a hazy, distant dream. Shaking, his hands gently hand themselves amidst her hair, and she rests her own on his shoulders. Each second sends her mind into a sensual state of intoxication.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, they must eventually part once more, though it gives her the opportunity to lift a single brow suggestively.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Mon petit écureuil,” </em> she lifts one of her hands to lightly trail a finger down his warm cheek, “Shall we… share a bed?”</p><p> </p><p>He sucks in a breath so quickly she thinks he actually choked on something. With the quick footedness of an actual squirrel he jumps back, and digs his palms into the crunchy snow and unceremoniously flings some at her.</p><p> </p><p>Cecil misses.</p><p> </p><p>“B-b-b-before that, s-snowball fight—!!” </p><p> </p><p>If he were a kettle, the steam would be whistling out of his ears.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, so he will risk nudity by bathing in a river but the mere mention of a bed makes him retreat like someone caught in a trap. <em> Men, </em> what lovely creatures they are! Never a boring moment with them and Milicent is reminded why she can never tire of their— no, <em> his— </em> attention.</p><p> </p><p>She barks out a laugh, feeling weightless and free and ecstatic.</p><p> </p><p>“My fondness of you may be indescribable, but I refuse to lose any battle. I am not quite so willing to bend as fast as the white frosted ground.”</p><p> </p><p>In mere minutes they are both ducking in and out from behind trees and bushes, their gloved hands in the snow, frantically making a stockpile to retaliate against the icy projectiles constantly being flung in the air. Their ‘battle’ is entirely defined by a desultory nature. At some point, she barrels towards him, uncaring with the coldness he hits her with, and she jabs him at his side.</p><p> </p><p>They tumble to the ground, rolling around, and they laugh endlessly.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They did not, in fact, share a bed.</p><p> </p><p>But they shared a room.</p><p> </p><p>And they continued to engage in… amorous kissing with greedy hands exploring beneath their clothing, snaking across skin. That is, until Cecil softly whispered a soft, “N-No, wait… Not yet…”</p><p> </p><p>And like any woman with a modicum of sense, she stopped and asked him what went awry, and that is where they currently stand.</p><p> </p><p>Cecil shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong… I just would like to get settled in properly, I suppose. This is all… happening a bit quicker than what I am able to properly digest at the moment. I am sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve nothing to apologize for. And yes, you’re right, we should… take it slower than this,” Milicent smiles at him softly, running her hand down his silken hair, “The first time should be something truly special.”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks at her, and she chuckles. </p><p> </p><p>“I am not sure if you were able to notice, but you are the first man I have kissed, Cecil. And you will be the first man I bed.”</p><p> </p><p>His mouth becomes agape, though not a sound comes out until he clears his throat. An impish grin flashes on his visage. “So the infamous man-eater is inexperienced… Heh, no wonder you became so flustered when we kissed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh I can assure you that it won’t be quite like that when I bed you,” truthfully, she has no idea how she’ll be when the time comes, but a Duchess simply must keep up with appearances, “I’ll make you tremble with desire… All wanton and desperate… Pft…” The noise that bursts forth is like a cross between a snort and a drunken laugh, and Cecil joined in on her giggling, the sounds softening the room.</p><p> </p><p>She had never gone further than chaste touches with other men. Bedding a man without the promise of a real, tangible relationship with a foreseeable future simply seemed… too cruel. Despite being a so called man-eater she had never indulged herself in the more perverse inclinations the nickname alludes to— and not due to lack of desire— she fully wishes to enjoy in the pleasures of the flesh but only with a man she can truly, honestly… love. And she believes  she is looking directly at him. She keeps telling herself that despite her inexperience she will have plenty to teach him, but… will it be so bad to merely learn together? In the end, she muses she does not need to be a beacon of knowledge on every little subject.</p><p> </p><p>...Perhaps it is equally as cruel to say such saccharine words to them with no true regard to their feelings. Especially now, more than ever.</p><p> </p><p>She places a hand on Cecil’s thigh, and his warm, soft finger intertwines with hers. </p><p> </p><p>“I swear to you that I will endeavour to hold my tongue with other men. I will not speak to them the same I will to you any longer. Such coquetry will only be reserved for you, my dear.” She meets his eyes with a steady, determined gaze. It is the very least she can do, she thinks. She fully intends to spoil Cecil rotten, and it is something only <em> he </em>will experience— she will not pamper anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>It is not as though she intends to stop speaking with men in general, that is both impossible and absurd, but she will stop… leading them on, as it were.</p><p> </p><p>He chuckles softly. “Yes, I would appreciate it if you ceased flirting with anything that has a cock.”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent gasps dramatically.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Mon petit écureuil! </em>Such language, oh my!” When he smirks she can feel herself swooning already. So handsome! Ah, if she were to spare a lazy thought on him she knows she will be stopped in her tracks no matter what she may be doing! </p><p> </p><p>Oh how excited she is to see his slicked back hair all messy and untamed on his head after a long night of sleep. His jaw curves gracefully, and so does his neck. <em> Aaaah, </em> now she wonders what that part of his body feels like if she were to kiss it.</p><p> </p><p>Cecil tilts his head, a single eyebrow raised questionably. She stops daydreaming about his strong arms, bold thighs and calves, a firm chest and abdomen— <em>mon dieu! </em>Cycling does wonders on a man’s body!— and she clears her throat when she realizes she must address something pertinent. </p><p> </p><p>“I must ask you of something, Cecil. As… lovely as your <em> subtleties </em> have been,” a slight blush rises from his cheeks at the mention of that, “Please… if you have something you wish to say… plainly say it. After all it has been well established I have the thickest skull in all of Estielart.”</p><p> </p><p>His soft blush deepens, and he shyly rubs the back of his neck. “Aha… Yes. No more silly tricks and contrivances on my part. I wonder if that was part of the teachings from Charm School that I had retained. They always said a man should never be too blunt… Though I suppose I had a rather unique interpretation of that, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>He speaks more of Charm School, and of the general restrictions he had to face while living in the dormitories. Despite that, he described it as a mundane, uneventful seven years where he and other men would quietly resist their rigid teachings in privacy by engaging in the arts for the fun of it.</p><p> </p><p>Milicent wonders that as Duchess, she should at least let it be known she has no issue with men engaging in such leisurely activities. A public decree of sorts. Certainly something to ponder for later.</p><p> </p><p>“In a way, I suppose I am… glad you had a lapse in memory,” Cecil says, “For a time I wondered if my parents would look into arranging marriage between you and I if I had simply stopped being such a problem child. But when your letters ceased I gave up on the prospect… even though I continued to write. Perhaps I always had a small hope for you and I, which grew into fierce competition when I first saw you again.” He smiles faintly, “I am glad I did not need to change myself. I think that pretending to be something I am not would have made both of us miserable.”</p><p> </p><p>He is certainly correct on that, though there is a <em> very </em> interesting prospect he curiously seemed to gloss over.</p><p> </p><p>“Oho! You wish to be wed already!”</p><p> </p><p>Spluttering, he turned his head with a huff. “T-T-That was when I was in Charm School…! A silly f-fantasy at the time. I-It’s not as though I feel that way anymore!”</p><p> </p><p>Milicent leans in with a wide grin, “Not anymore? Then I shall have to work to the best of my ability to make you want to wed me again!” She leans in to wrap her arms around his waist, not to tickle, but to envelope him in a great big hug. “I shall declare my fondness for you to the world! And I will never deign to command you to cease doing the things you enjoy. Cycle all you wish! Ride any horses! Perform in a play, I do not care!”</p><p> </p><p>She leans back, hands on his shoulders now, with a smile that reaches her ears.</p><p> </p><p>“In fact, I would love it if you were to accompany me for whenever I go mountaineering again!”</p><p> </p><p>A fierce warmth blooms inside of her when she watches him <em> beam. </em>His smile is one of happiness growing, much as a spring flower opens. Milicent can see how it comes from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. </p><p> </p><p>His smile is brighter than the sun itself.</p><p> </p><p>Cecil nods, voice boisterous and with an undying lilt of happiness. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, of course. I— I would love that too! Someone has to make sure you do not hit your head again!”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Why yes, I did put this in the same universe as my longfic but in a different country purely because I can and because I wanted to. Also cause I wanted an excuse to reuse the 'men can't do extraneous activities cause it'll destroy their testicles and make them infertile' tidbit cause how can I not reuse it? </p><p>This is another series that would work better at a 100K slowburn, i guess, LOL. Like starts out with their childhood friendship, Cecil resisting conventional societal expectations and falling in love, them growing/drifting apart when they're separated, his time in the school and Mili becoming a Duchess and doing the duties that come with it, Milicent hitting her head, general memory loss shenanigans and then the whole love declaration, end. I am well aware that this story had a fucking break neck pace. It definitely went too fast. 😖</p><p>Hey, if anyone gets inspired by literally any of these stories, feel free to use the idea and write your own thing.............only if you keep it femdom obvs haha. </p><p>French stuff:<br/>Mon dieu - Oh my god.<br/>Bon sang - Good grief.<br/>Incroyable - Incredible.<br/>Je ne sais quoi - Literal meaning: I don't know what. This is "an euphemism to express a pleasant or desirable trait about something or someone that can't be described or explained."<br/>Le Sommet d’Aurinesse - Aurinesse Summit. Just the name of a mountain in the story.<br/>Raison d'être - Reason to live.<br/>Mangez bien, riez souvent, aimez beaucoup - Eat well, laugh often, love a lot. Yes, this is the French version of "Live Laugh Love" lmfao. I just figured it fit with Milicent's pretentiousness.<br/>Amour - Love.<br/>Seigneur - Lord.<br/>Il ne faut pas se fier aux apparences - As translated by Milicent: Do not be fooled by appearances. Basically, don't judge a book by its cover.<br/>Merde - Shit.<br/>Mon petit écureuil - My little squirrel.<br/>Vélocipède - An old type of bicycle. Fun fact: They really did call bicycles boneshakers when they were first becoming a thing.<br/>L'imbécillité - Imbecility.<br/>Dieu Merci - Thank god.<br/>Adieu - Goodbye.<br/>Ta gueule - Shut up.<br/>Je t'aime - I love you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Hard Work Gets Rewarded (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Last couple of stories have been too ~soft~ and what have you. So have a white haired anime boy get degraded and absolutely railed by some tentacles.</p><p>Includes: Zero plot, prostitution, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, spanking (with a belt), brief anal fingering and foot licking, tentacles.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>They say those born with hair as white as snow are blessed by the moon goddess. It certainly does its job at making people stand out, as most people this side of the continent has dark coloured hair. The whiteness goes nicely with Irial’s light blue eyes and in turn juxtaposes with his light brown skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If it weren’t for his hair, he’d be as indiscernible as any other average traveler with his large knapsack strapped to his back, plain tunic shirt and brown pants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But nope. Since he’s got that look a supposed goddess favours, he generally hears a series of whisperings whenever he walks these cobblestone streets, or catches people in horse drawn carriages gawking at him whenever they pass by him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, isn’t that guy one of those moon-folk?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They say their beauty is unparalleled…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, he looks kinda average to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then there are the… less than savoury comments he’s grown very used to at this point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ohoho… I’ve seen that guy walking the streets in the red light district.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?! Hah, to get a man like that in my bed!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wonder if moon-folk have any special talent in the bedroom arts.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial ignores them as he always does, continuing onwards to the nearest inn and tavern. It’s fairly early in the morning, with gentle mist hugging the earth. Just a normal, calm day with absolutely nothing special happening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That being said, his brow twitches in irritation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blessed, my ass.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the same way people with red hair aren't blessed from the sun goddess. It’s a rare hair colour that doesn’t actually do anything special, as far as Irial is concerned. But of course when he was born, his parents were ecstatic, naming him after the moon goddess’ favourite male concubine and they were convinced he was destined for great things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he’s yet to do anything great, but he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trying to get rich, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s travelled far and wide in search of treasure, be it from ancient tombs or buried chests. He’s honed his skill in sneaking around and dodging booby traps, and he likes to think of himself as a seasoned and talented treasure hunter… He’s just… yet to really find anything of value, is all…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing he checked out was a tomb of some monarch of a bygone era. It was located in a wet, humid swamp with no shortage of animals that wanted to eviscerate him, but he managed to get out unscathed and reach the innermost chamber…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t fucking believe the damn thing was already pilfered!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial angrily bites bite onto the tip of his thumbnail. To think that the place that he had searched for weeks was already empty…! And he had carefully calculated his expenses depending on how long he’d take to reach the tomb, but since he found no treasure, he’s definitely getting a bit too close of having no money for his liking. He was really depending on finding at least something—!!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s about to bitterly open the door of the inn, but he’s stopped in his tracks when someone else opens it to exit the building. A tall woman with the same skin tone as his, with black hair, a thin nose and dark eyes. She really doesn’t look all that different from most women around here, yet her cat-like gaze makes his cheeks suddenly flush, much to his own annoyance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman smiles enigmatically, like she knows something he doesn’t, and steps aside to make room for him. Irial bows his head in wordless thanks, and places three silver coins on the counter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A room for the night, please.” He says curtly, and the proprietor looks at him blankly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s five silver coins.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial frowns. “It was three silver coins the last time I was here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And the prices have risen since then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you fucking kidding me?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wants to shout, but instead he silently fumes with pinched brows. Dammit. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>five silver coins. He knew he’d have to sell himself sooner rather than later, but he was hoping to at least have one night of relaxation before needing to walk the red light district!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows from experience there isn’t a point in trying to haggle the prices to go down. That generally just amounts to him getting kicked out because the people here are a bunch of greedy, heartless fucks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial takes his coins and stomps out the inn with a huff. At least he can use these coins to get a bite to eat before heading to the red light district. He was just planning on sleeping for the entire day to regain his energy, but now he—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take you for the night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His shoulders tense, eying the woman that opened the door for him who is now leaning against the wall of the inn. Did she just stand outside and wait for him? Surely she couldn’t have heard his brief exchange with the proprietor, and even if she did, how could she already infer that he’s going to whore himself out for extra coin?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve heard of your talent. It’s only naturally someone blessed by the moon to stand out, especially when he’s a prostitute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cheeks flush, and Irial turns his head with an awkward cough. This woman must be some type of hoodlum, but her white and navy blue suit speaks of wealth he isn’t used to seeing around here. Glancing back at her, she’s got a hell of a smug smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s taken by surprise when she flicks something at him, and when he catches it his breath is caught in his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A cold coin?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial merely stares at it, dumbfounded, and his lack of an actual response makes the woman chuckle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not enough? Here, have another.” Then he receives </span>
  <em>
    <span>a second gold coin?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha…” He starts, though he’s unable to finish that line of thought as he feels his heart pounding from the sudden onslaught of payment. It makes him speechless, only able to sputter out incoherent noises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My, you’re an expensive one. You must really be good at what you do,” she says teasingly, flicking a third and fourth gold coin at him. “That oughta cover your expenses for the coming weeks and then some.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dumbstruck, Irial quickly inspects the coins to make sure he isn’t being duped with fake currency, but as far as he can tell it’s legit. He quickly and eagerly pockets it as it takes him several more seconds to regain his composure and to be able to string a sentence together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he’s aware that his cheeks are still flushed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I— yeah, sure. I’ll do whatever you want.” His lips curl downwards. “Well, mostly anything. I’m not going to be your human toilet or anything gross like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure, she’s giving him more money than other clients he’s ever had, but he’s still got some </span>
  <em>
    <span>pride.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman chuckles, the sly gleam of her eyes never leaving her. It makes him think she must be some type of skeevy businesswoman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d never deign to do something so crude. Now, I’d like to know the name of the man I intend to fuck.” She says brightly, her crude words not fitting her amused tone in the slightest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t help but feel a slightest bit cautious. “...Irial. Yours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Irial,” she repeats, and there’s something… a bit dangerous in the way she looks at him now, similar to many of his other clients— something sadistic. “A pretty name. As for me… you can…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She draws the words out, her mischievous countenance making him narrow his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can just call me Master.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face contorts in a barely concealed scowl. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s absolutely a miscreant! A felon! Scumbag! Hoodlum! Lowlife—!! She’s gotta be some leader of a gang or something!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lips formed in a dissatisfied pout, he nods anyway. “...That’ll cost you extra.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And lo and behold, he gets a fifth gold coin, something that promptly makes him think his heart is going to crawl up his throat. After another series of sputtering and awkward coughing, he forces a smile and prepares to get into character.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aha… M-Master, thank you. Then where would you like to—” He’s interrupted at a sharp pull at his wrist, his client already leading him to an unknown destination. He’s slightly annoyed at being dragged around, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Irial is well aware that he’s lucky to have gotten a meeting with a suspiciously wealthy woman that he caught the interest of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure, maybe his hair colour can be good for some things. He’s got that allure that’s useful for this type of job. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the woman suddenly looks back at him with a wink, he finds himself besieged with a feeling of bewilderment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why do I feel like she’s planning something?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d rather not do this in the middle of a grimy alleyway but Master— </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugh—</span>
  </em>
  <span> seemed especially insistent and even offered him more payment. She must get off from doing it in public, and it’s not like they’ll get arrested for indecency if they’re seen. Alleyway fuckings are common in this district, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On his knees and his knapsack placed to the side, Irial watches her slowly unbuckles her belt in an exaggerated display, clearly enjoying the time she takes making him wait. The mocking glint in her dark hazel eyes tells him she relishes in bringing men like him to their knees. Maybe it’s because he’s the first so-called child of the moon she’s fucking. From what Irial remembers in his lessons as a child, people with white hair like him would historically be taken from their families to live in the Empress’ estate, spoiled beyond belief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That never happened to him, obviously. People don’t really care about the moon goddess like that anymore, and his type are usually treated like exotic trinkets now. But nonetheless, having someone like him here with her is clearly giving Master a bit of a power trip… As if her making him call her ‘Master’ wasn’t already enough of a clue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she finally divests her lower half of clothing, she hooks her leg over her shoulder with a shit-eating grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get to it. I want my money’s worth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wanting to get this done as quickly as he can so he can spoil himself with his payment, Irial does just that. He’s long since become used to various different odours and tastes when it comes to performing oral sex, able to resist gagging or wanting to pinch his nostrils closed at this point in his career as a prostitute. With a quick, sharp inhale on his part as he resigns himself to spending his night like this, Irial presses his lips to her slit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He diligently gets to work on her clit, and his nose gets tickled by her pubic hair. He suckles and flicks his tongue against her nub, sometimes moving to stroke his tongue across her entire labia. If he’s allowed to begrudgingly brag, it’s masterful tongue use, a testament of his experience of servicing a wide range of women. He had brought his lips to her cunt in an almost demure manner, as if the technique is a trick to tease his client and boost her carnal appetite.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master moans slightly with a shiver of pleasure, and Irial takes it as his cue to bring his finger up to firmly insert in her wet pussy, feeling her walls clench down on him as he pumps in and out. With excited nasal breathing, she grinds her hips against his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re pretty good at this, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He considers whether he should answer that or not. Maybe sloppily speak while still licking her, saying something to the effect of </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Uuu… Fufu… dewiciousssh…’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>though in his experience speaking with his mouth full and hamming it up tends to have some mixed results.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, he opts to smile lewdly against her mound while gradually bringing her to her release. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The warm, moist lining of her pussy invades all of his senses the more he services her. He enters a second finger, hooking occasionally with his thrusts, searching for a bundle of nerves that’ll surely give him a hefty tip if he manages to make her feel extra good. All the while, he tirelessly and relentlessly attacks her clit with his tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial even goes as far as to gulp down on her rich vaginal fluid alongside his saliva, making sure to exaggerate his debauched moaning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master grins at the obscenity of Irial’s pussy service, which has clearly exceeded her expectations. She fondles her own breasts under her shirt, and while resuming his tongue fucking he looks into her eyes half-flirtatiously, despite how much doing so makes his skin crawl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though it also gives him goosebumps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And much to his own chagrin, he knows that his light-brown skin is beginning to redden considerably out of dormant masochistic arousal. He meticulously polishes her entire vagina, not leaving a single spot untouched by his tongue or fingers. Irial single-mindedly jerks his head up and down, licking, sucking and giving pleasure to her cunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long after that Master decides he’s apparently done enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ahn,” he makes a crude noise as he kisses her labia, drenched in her own fluids and his saliva, over and over again. Then a hand harshly pulls at his hair and forces him away from her pulsating folds. An obscene string a spit spans from the edge of her slit to Irial’s partly adape mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was good work,” Master sneers with a smirk, her breathing slightly ragged. Irial barely suppresses a hiss when she takes her leg off his shoulder only to force him to stand with her hand still in his hair. “What a hopeless pervert you are to service a woman so brazenly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not quite enough of a fool to make a sarcastic quip at a client who’s currently hanging the promise of more payment over his head, so instead he smiles wryly. “Absolutely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Master. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anything for you.” He grits out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s own loins tingle heatedly, something that is not missed by Master. She practically rips the pants off him, along with his shirt afterwards, and he suddenly himself with his back pinned against a wall. For a moment, he’s vaguely thankful for no longer having his knees uncomfortable on the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master whistles at the sight of him, and he purses his lips together in a thin line in embarrassment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got a knight’s body. Got all firm and lean from all that adventuring, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lifts one of her legs to put her foot on the wall, obviously intending to have sex while standing, and Irial instinctively moves his hands to cup the underside of her thigh and buttocks to support her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t get a lot of clients if I didn’t keep my body in shape.” He says wryly, followed by a blink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did I go with whoring myself out instead of adventuring…?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever dissent forms in his is immediately extinguished when Master strokes him to become fully hard, her heated breathing becoming a low chuckle. She lowers her waist, their bare genitals touching each other, separated by nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her folds are spread apart, and his length is engulfed by her warmth. He hisses while she sighs, their sweat beginning to intermingle with one another. If he glances sideways, he would see passerbys walking past the alleyway, noticing them but paying them no mind whatsoever. There’s even a woman that looks a bit miffed about the spot being taken, and promptly drags off her man to goddess knows where.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Apparently Master isn’t one to waste her time and begins to grind her hips violently, her eagerness to chase after her own pleasure becoming obvious when she snakes a hand down her waist to rub her clit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her other hand clutches his throat. Most women seem to have a thing for that sort of thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master’s long, wavy black hair sways whenever she slams her sweaty hips, and at times Irial attempts to move his own to match her movements, but her hand tightening its grip on his neck tells him she’s more than content on doing everything herself. He can’t quite help it when his body twitches and writhes whenever she contracts her vaginal walls on his cock, the stimulation making him gasp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her aggressive pistoning, along with her ravenous gaze makes him begin to pant indecently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look really slutty right now, you know?” She says with a hint of laughter in her tone, and Irial feels a steep, blistering heat uncoiling in his lower abdomen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While clenching his teeth and biting back drool, he feels himself become gradually intoxicated by being used like a dildo. The strengths of her hips makes his mind begin to grow hazy, and his eyelids twitch lasciviously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>G-Guh… This bitch… </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thinks scornfully, and yet his face slackens from his client’s rhythmical thrusts. His sensitive cock being caressed by her folds forces his sexual urges up high in a blink of an eye.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial desperately holds back on his own building climax from her indecent hip-swinging motions. Having his cock dig in the back of her soaking wet vagina, Master appears to thoroughly enjoy the sight of him trying to stop himself from uncontrollably writhing in pleasure. His back arches despite himself, his fingers digging into her thigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, Master pants loudly, swinging her hips in one last powerful motion and nearly cutting off his airway with the surprising strength of her hand. Her vaginal muscles ardently squeezes his cock, and he feels himself quickly reaching his limit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearly sensing this, Master steps back, releasing both his neck and his cock. Irial ejactulates while standing, his face contorting slobbishly with his sweat drenched back arching against the wall. The sudden loss of the warmth of her cunt makes him sputter in surprise, but nonetheless large amounts of semen bursts forth from his throbbing cock.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agah…” He lets a shrill voice, followed by a hoarse groan, his body quivering and twitching. His tense muscles seem to take eons to relax, and his breathing stutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wiping his mouth, Irial takes note of his semen that landed on Master’s feet. A haughty </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘heh’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>brings his eyes upwards to her face, and her expression tells him what she wants him to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His squint of disapproval in turn tells her about his feelings on the matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pay you extra.” Her lips curl in a toothy grin. “Two gold coins.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fingers flex, a small gasp escaping him… Well… He’s done worse for far less.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a huff, he returns to kneeling, leaning further down to run his tongue on her feet and to lap up his own cum. The salty taste makes his eyes twitch, but he’s nothing if not diligent in his work as a whore. He sucks on her toes and kisses at the sole of her feet, eventually completely cleaning her of his semen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial wipes his mouth when he finishes, then hears a coin purse landing on the ground next to him. Excitement soon fills him as he checks it and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>five gold coins instead of two! Now he has ten in total for such a simple service. He usually only gets two silver coins for this! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This’ll keep me afloat for a couple of weeks!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He happily places the precious coin purse in his knapsack for safe keeping, and Master pulls up her pants. Like with all clients, he expects her to leave without so much as acknowledging what just occurred, but instead she remains. Not only that, she squats in front of him and reaches forward to run her tongue over his bottom lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks owlishly, and she speaks in a chillingly soft voice that gives him goosebumps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you wanna make some serious money, I’ve got a proposition for you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I’ve gotten paid, I’ll be fine.” He replies cautiously as he begins to dress himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But don’t you want a lot </span>
  <em>
    <span>more?</span>
  </em>
  <span> So you can relax for longer before needing to whore yourself out again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His brow twitches, and he scoffs derisively. “If I manage to find treasure I’ll be set for life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master throws her head back in a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s a pretty big </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> at that. But on the notion of treasure, what if I add a map to the payment, eh? If you do this, not only will you earn more than you ever could just ambling around in the streets, but I’ll give you an old map that’s said to lead to some precious jewels. It was found in an old sea captain’s home after she passed. Some rumours are floating around saying she led a double life and was also a pirate who buried her treasures.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>certainly gets his attention. Now dressed, he eyes her in suspicion, taking in the sharp planes of her face and how her skin has no blemishes. She’s an attractive woman, sure, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t a viper in disguise. Pretty much everyone in this city is a dirty miscreant, anyway. Himself included.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What exactly do you want me to do? And where’d you get this map? How do I know it’s legit?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heeey, have I given you any reason to mistrust me?” Her smile makes him grimace, “I’ve paid you nice and well, haven’t I? I got the map from an old collector. You’re not the only treasure hunter around, you know. And I own a couple of clubs around here, in case you were wondering where my money comes from. I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> legit person.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leans forward, her eyes seeming to bore a hole into his very being, and Irial shivers from suddenly feeling cornered. He can tell from her aura and how she carries herself that is indeed a powerful person in this city.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing that’ll, like, grievously injure you or whatever. You won’t die, cross my heart and all that. I just need you for a show, since the guy who was meant to do it flaked out on me. It’ll just be one night and you’ll be swimming in plenty of gold coins afterwards.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact she has to assure him he won’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>makes him want to just stand and leave, but he remains rooted on the spot. It suddenly begins to feel too hot and stuffy in his clothes, and… She did give him a good amount of cash. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>wealthy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Just one night or show or whatever it is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master claps her hands together happily. “Alright! Here’s the address and date. See you then,” she says, something in her voice that gives him a brief spike of adrenaline. She leaves him in the alleyway, and he takes a look at the card she gave him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Aster Women’s Club.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course it’s the biggest brothel around. And she said she’s the owner? That certainly makes sense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial sighs again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What am I getting myself into…?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>As expected, being the so-called ‘star of the show’ in some licentious club involves innumerable amounts of humiliation. Countless eyes hungrily gaze at Irial’s nude form, and he feels a searing heat assail his face. He even recognizes some of these women as past clients, all looking at him like he’s an appetizing piece of meat. As if that wasn’t enough, he’s practically dragged on stage by Master pulling a chain connected to a collar strapped around his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stage is circular and in the middle of the room, meaning he’s being viewed from all sides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now I know some of you have had nights with this delectable young man. I can tell he’s already a fan favourite,” Master says mockingly, then nods at him, “Do the pose I told you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Face forming in a tight grimace, Irial puts his hands behind his head, and spreads his leg in a squat. It’s a thoroughly embarrassing pose to do in front of a crowd of delighted, perverted onlookers. Trickles of sweat trail down his spine, and to degrade him further viscous fluids peeks out of his anus— lube, Master said. And his asshole has been thoroughly coated in it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his youthful body and genitals on display, his nipples harden despite himself, and his lips quiver from his barely contained scowl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The patrons in the room become astir from the state of him. Their eyes and voices are unreserved, piercing into his exposed body. The words coming from their lips vividly revealed their lowly characters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What a whore, heh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, quite the pig. I think I paid for him a few weeks ago, but I don’t know. All these sluts just end up becoming the same. You’d think the white hair would make him more memorable.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love how pissy he looks. It’ll make this show all the more satisfying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial grinds his teeth, irritation growing from this pretentious spectacle but he keeps his thoughts to himself. If this’ll pay half as much as Master said it would, he’ll be set for </span>
  <em>
    <span>months. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He has to bite back on his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lowly scumbags…!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a while since we had someone for this.” Master says, “I know you’re all excited. I’m sure we’re all going to have a great show tonight!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s applause, and when it subsides Master lightly shakes Irial’s chain with a silent command.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His throat constricts, but he manages to grit out his rehearsed introduction while still holding his pose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gr—Greetings, everyone. Thank you for h-having this s-slut. I hope to please everyone with my p-performance.” He almost chokes on his words from the humiliation, though his mind meanders to the whole ‘performance’ part of what’s going to happen. Considering the wetness of his hole, he assumes he’s going to be pegged publicly. But this is far from the first time a woman has used his anus, so why would this be so special? Why would they give him such an amount of money?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The vulgar atmosphere of the room intensified. Their gazes become all the more lecherous while shame and humiliation runs amoks in Irial’s mind… But his body…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“N-Ngh…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Heat burns through his veins, his blood feeling as though it’s boiling and worst of all… It goes straight to his twitching cock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master’s lips twitch in a knowing smirk. “For you to begin getting hard over this, and before we’ve even started? This line of work must be your true calling.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone from the crowd chimes in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s always fucking great when such a handsome, lively man has such an obscene body.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master goes behind him then, and he feels his shoulders tense when he feels her breath brush against his body. “Someone tipped extra for me to make your ass as red as your face, heh. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Irial can register her words, she raises her arm overhead. He doesn’t have time to prepare for her strike, either, as when she swings her arms downwards and he feels the excruciating sting strike his buttocks he gasps sharply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When did she get a belt?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She must’ve unbuckled her belt when he was doing his introduction. The fierce hit makes him bite his lip to stifle a noise more shameful than a gasp. His asscheeks are quickly coloured bright red from a single hit, his buttocks jiggling from the spanking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cock twitches and hardens further. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please enjoy as I make this whore squeal,” Master proclaims gleefully, followed by a wave of snickering from the crowd.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her belt hits his ass in quick succession, but Irial steadfastly remains in his pose despite the burn in his thigh muscles. His knees tremble slightly from a particularly hard hit and the sound of the belt making contact with his defenseless flesh rings out in the room. Every time there’s a hiss in the air from the belt being swung down he asscheeks clench.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial arches his back and sticks out his ass without even realizing it, and he hears Master chuckle loudly behind him. The brutality of her does not abate, instead they seem to increase in power. His cock, traitor that it always is, becomes fully hard and throbbing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His buttock flesh stings and flares up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuu…” He bites down an expletive, “Ngh… mhn…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The heat assaulting his ass burns from being struck repeatedly but then… it becomes something borderline </span>
  <em>
    <span>luscious. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A tingling sensation spreads out alongside the ache. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Da—Da… mhn! Ugh! Dammit…!” He hisses out harshly, whole body beginning to tremble now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my! Look at how his cock is already leaking precum just from being beaten,” an onlooker mocks, and when he receives another smack on the ass on his pulsating ass he groans. Pain and stimulation rages like a storm in Irial’s head as Master mercilessly attacks his full, vivacious ass flesh again and again and again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Breathing raggedly, Irial contorts his facial expression, though he is unsure of what he looks like now. Judging by the sneers and continued snickering, he must no longer have a grimace on his face. Instead, it takes him several seconds to realize that his tongue hangs from his parted lips and the wretched tatterdemalions watching him applaud the obscene display.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Swelling humiliation, and masochistic pleasure swirl into one sensation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s… there’s no w-way I’d get off… l-l-like this…!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite his weak thoughts that seem to grow more hazy and distant each time the belt hits his rear, he begins to buck his hips from shameful pleasure. He always tries to convince himself that he hates it whenever a client does this sort of thing, but every time, without fail, he feels intense arousal…!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gah…! Kuh…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, just as quickly as it started, it stops. He hears the belt be thrown to the side as the crowd cheers again. Irial hears his beating heart rings in his ears, his cock feeling heavy between his legs, and his sweat drenched hair provides an especially debauched sight for the happy patrons of the club.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His ass fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And so do his thighs and arms from remaining in this blasted pose. But it’s not as though he can focus for very long on any single sensation for long, since two fingers suddenly thrust their way inside his lubed asshole.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Ah!” He </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeals. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The pleased voice escapes him because of the sudden surprise attack, but soon he attempts to firmly bite his lip to prevent more sounds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master’s finger moves back and forth within him, churning his asshole shamefully easily. There’s no resistance from his wet hole, and the excited voices of the audience have a tingling effect on his pointed nipples and erect cock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial almost throws his head back when Master hooks her fingers inside him. Squishy, squelching noises are audible, and the feeling of hot sweat and lube running down his thighs makes his heart beat even faster. To think he would be affected this much from being watched by a crowd…! It’s like he’s a slave who had been tamed with pleasure being sold off in an auction!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His knees continue to shake, more violently than before. Master’s voice nearly makes him flinch when it’s directly neck to his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Normally I’d beat a man if he slackens his posture like that, but you’re lucky that what I did was only an appetizer to get the crowd excited. Now it’s time for the main course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha—” He chokes out, “Are you going to peg me now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lets out a loud, vulgar laugh and slips her fingers out of him, the action making him stagger. She gives his ass a hard squeeze with her hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh no. I won’t do anything else. You’re in for a treat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial looks at her questionably when she steps off the stage with a wide grin, and he can feel a spike of anticipation in the air. This tension… it’s definitely excitement from the crowd, unlike anything else he had experienced. He feels an onset of hesitation and fear hit him, and they’re only intensified when he feels the wooden floor of the stage begin to shake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wood suddenly caves in, the sound of splintering wood making him let out a surprised yelp. Instinctively, he closes his eyes in shock, half expecting to fall in the basement but instead he feels a sickly warm and wet feeling grab onto his limbs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wh-Wh-What…” he sputters, voice cracking when he opens his eyes, “What is this?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd roars, the sound almost deafening, but it’s nothing compared to his heart beat. His breathing comes in short bursts from a growing primitive fear, but no matter how much his body and mind urges him to escape he can’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because Irial is restrained by a membranous prison. A captivatingly repulsive, flesh-like tentacles twist around each other and coils around his limbs. They wriggle as though they’re breathing, and a faintly yellowish mucus trickles down them. His body has already been slobbered by the lukewarm liquid, and some of it goes into his mouth. Much to his relief, it tastes like honey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be fine,” Master’s voice rings above the rest, and she waves her hand flippantly at how Irial futilely struggles against whatever this creature is. “It’s not gonna eat you or whatever. Just relax and enjoy yourself, fwuhahaha!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial sharply narrows his eyes, about to let out a scream full of scorn, but another tentacle slovenly trails down his back, making him choke back on his words. His body tenses as he feels its warmth and wetness, but despite everything, his cock continues to react exaggeratedly. It bounces and throbs, still leaking precum, and the heat from his member puts the tentacles to shame. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shudders, seething with carnal desire he tries to hide, but his hips twitch to greedily seek out pleasure. It is a shameful feeling, but it travels up and down his entire body and the unpleasant moist presence of the tentacles exploring his body while everyone watches him… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fhm… Fuuuck….</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An indescribable feeling brushes along his spine and resonates throughout his entire body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>These insufferable miscreants… And these repulsive feelings… Ngm… Fuck, how can it feel so good?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At this point, most men would be screaming and crying before they’re overwhelmed with pleasure. I’m impressed, really.” Master’s voice is unpleasantly frank, “I can tell you’re going to love this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In accordance to her words, tentacles grope around his quivering body, their juices dripping onto him. His mind is in complete disarray, his vision briefly going white when a tentacle appears to </span>
  <em>
    <span>open its mouth</span>
  </em>
  <span> and engulfs his cock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It… it feels… it feels like a pussy…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh… fuh…!” Saliva spews out from his firmly bitten lips. He gasps from the pleasure of the tentacles strangely gentle suction of his cock. Around him, other tentacles squirm, as if excited to get a taste of him. Just before his strained emotions can burst out, the tentacles not restraining his limbs rush forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two small ones open their mouths wide to suck on his nipples, with others fondling and kneading his pained asscheeks. The one on his cock makes fierce slurping noises, the toe-curling sensation forcing a high-pitched scream to come out of Irial.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuu— Agah?! Ah!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> The erratic groping makes him give in terribly easily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You—! Fffuuuck… Shtooop… Agh, ah, ah!” His words become slurred and incomprehensible, unable to say anything coherent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His nipples and cock feel thoroughly swollen, and desperately seeking pleasure. Countless electric shocks ran in all directions in his body every time the tentacles toy with his pliant body. He hears lascivious squelching and sucking noises and his eyes glaze over. It’s terrifying, and surely still repulsive, and yet whatever pitiful resistance he has crumbles and the fear gradually turns into excitement—!!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The inside of the tentacle strokes his cock as they billow up and down with great elasticity, twisting when they move up and down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’moooooon! Use his holes!” Several audience members chant, and apparently the tentacles take it as an order.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s eyes become wide, lips parting in a soundless scream when he feels something thick push into his slick, loosened asshole. His mind feverishly tries to resist, but a salacious and wretched smile etches its way onto his face. Whatever hoarse sounds he can make are delighted and ecstatic squeals. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Letting out all his breath, Irial pants from the mind-blowing shock of the tentacle pushing into his rectum. There didn’t seem to be any pain, only pleasure, and he writhes against his restraints with a delight gleaming in his eyes.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngahiih… guh… Aha…Ahaha!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears raucous cheering as the tentacle invades his deepest depths, squirming inside him. The stimulation of having his nipples and cock sucked, and his asshole thoroughly fucked by a thick, undulating tentacle, produces a feeling of intense euphoria to flow through Irial. His shameful voice echoes in the room as the muscles of his anus rhythmically welcomes the tentacle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It moves in his asshole in an unyielding motion. The squelching noises and the feeling of being plowed— it makes him feel like he’s floating in pleasure. Sweet tingling violates his entire being, and his highly sensitive nerves instantly flare up. When the tentacle thrusts further inside him, the shock and muffled sound of it striking his inner flesh energized Irial’s lower abdomen, and his hips buck violently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body is overjoyed, aching in pure delight, eagerly fawning over the tentacles violating his body. The pounding doesn’t stop or slow, and sensual moans come out of Irial in waves. With every thrust he feels as though he’s on the brink of losing consciousness. The sweat, snot, and mucus all fly off his thrashing body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tentacle almost comes completely out of him, only to thrust back inside with twice the force.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah! A—mhph?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another wave of applause occurs when another tentacle forces its way into his mouth. Gurgling noises erupt from his throat, and he brings his eyebrows firmly together. It goes past the lining of his cheeks and grazes his uvula. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hah! Of course the slut doesn’t have a gag reflex!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mockery only makes his spine tingle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tentacle draws back from his mouth firmly, then thrusts back inside. It fucks his face like the tentacle fucks his asshole, hard and fast. His lips cling to its shaft and when he senses the tip return to the back of his throat again, Irial exhibits a deepthroat motion, which makes obscene noises all around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, once again, he sucks on the length when the tentacle moves back, and then it relentlessly delves back into his throat. Irial’s mouth and anus goes back and forth like that, being forced to service these appalling tentacles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps it’s not so appalling, because everytime the tentacles invade his mouth and asshole, he lavishly caresses them with the wet lining of his throat and rectum. Before he realizes it, he experiences a rapture from being used like a toy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He raises unclear moans the more his throat is violated. It goes on for several minutes, and his jaw eventually feels as though it’s going to dislocate, but despite that he continues to desperately and </span>
  <em>
    <span>happily </span>
  </em>
  <span>latch onto the tentacle with his mouth. He tastes more of that viscous honey-like liquid, and he noisily gulps them down as he is dominated by a tremendous ache.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being tormented by a tentacle that practically suffocates him, while another rams into his quivering asshole, and others suck his nipples and cock… It was hellish, yet blindingly divine. His throat bulges out and Irial barely manages to withstand the chills that arise from the continuous assault, his body spasming on its own accord.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head steadily begins to feel heavier, his vision flickering on and off. His eyes brim with tears and he felt like he was on the cusp of seeing stars and blacking out. Irial groans like an animal, and the tentacle grinds its tip at the back of his throat over and over and over again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dripping with tears, the yellowish mucus overflows from his lips as if the tentacle had just ejaculated down his throat. It, along with his drool, dirties his chin and nape of his neck in an obscene display. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes a strange voice surge out from the back of his throat from the overflowing satisfaction that overruns his body as far as ends of his hair, his eyes rolling back and couldn’t see anything anymore. Irial exposes an expression that has lost its intelligence and personality, his cock releasing a turbid stream of semen into the tentacle still enveloped around his member. It’s an unsightly spectacle befitting a whore such as himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he looks now, one couldn’t possibly sense akin to human dignity from his appearance. A body like this— it had no such thing as strength of will. His body writhes violently, and the strength drains from his formerly bold face, slackening as if he were on the peak of happiness. It’s a severely fierce and intoxicating orgasm that utterly exhausts every inch of his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the tentacle releases itself from the confines of his mouth, he lets out a series of delirious giggles. “Ehehe… nhm… aha…” His sedated, slutty voice is enough to give anyone the impression that his mind was thoroughly broken and beyond repair. The tentacle in his asshole removes itself from him with a lurid </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the lube and mucus dripping out of his hole.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body convulses in the afterglow, the cheers of the audience sounding muffled in his ears. The inside of his head is muddled and uncertain, but there is only one thing that remains: unrelenting pleasure. His body slowly relaxes in euphoric bliss, and he can only think of one thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>O-oh… haha… I should just stick with doing this whenever I need money… ehehe…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he’s let down in the ground and his breathing finally steadies, all he sees is Master’s <em>wonderfully</em> wicked smile before a heavy slumber overtakes him. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>tagging along, huh?” Irial bites out in a growl, hands tightly clutching on the map Master had given him and his pockets heavy with a multitude of coins. He was paid more than he ever could have dreamed of, but like everything in this world, it’s finite. So, he wishes to disembark with the map in hand to find that hidden treasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though he couldn’t go </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately, </span>
  </em>
  <span>seeing how he needed a couple of days to fully recover from his… show. That hazy lust, arousal and pleasure that gradually faded away… How he had lost any sense of reason... It makes him think about whether that mucus that came from the tentacles might have been an aphrodisiac. Makes sense, considering the tentacles themselves were actually a type of plant, apparently, one controlled by magic. The mucus was likely its nectar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, absolutely an aphrodisiac. It felt way too good to not be one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His lips form in a pout.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever! It’s done and over with!! </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial has to bite his lip to prevent himself thinking about doing it again because, well, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>enjoy it. He continues speed walking down the path that is flanked by a series of trees, having already packed his things and left the city. He doesn’t intend to </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately </span>
  </em>
  <span>go treasure hunting… he’s going to take his time in traveling and enjoying some tourist attractions here and there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master wraps an arm around his shoulder as she matches his pace, and Irial musters up his best death glare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I said I’d give you the map, but I never said I’d let you go treasure hunting by yourself.” She says arrogantly, and Irial narrows his eyes in suspicion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But why would someone like you even go treasure hunting? You don’t need to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She steps in front of him, stopping him in his tracks, a haughty grin plastered on her expression. “So full of suspicion! I’m here for the adventure. C’mon, </span>
  <em>
    <span>partner, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the more the merrier, hmm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both her hands now grip his shoulders tightly, making him hiss, and she leans forward to invade his personal space. Irial grimaces when he feels her breath tickle his neck, and yet his throat bobs and his knees buckle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Safety in numbers and all that. Besides, whenever you need to whore yourself out again, I’ll be right there. I think I’ve decided that I don’t really want anyone else being your client, heh. You’re too fun to fuck and watch for me to just go after anyone else, and like I said, I own plenty of clubs around the place.” A hand slides down Irial’s back, reaching his ass and groping his cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Considering she is the owner of that… establishment, he assumes she must have been the one to control the plant-tentacle-thing. Can she simply summon it out of nowhere and at will? Damn, she must be a powerful witch then… certainly would be useful to have her… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And if I need to go to one of her brothels again and get fucked by some tentacles...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stiffens, letting out a small </span>
  <em>
    <span>eep</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he fails to stifle. He should push her away, he thinks, or curse at her. But he doesn’t. Instead, he already feels himself become hot and bothered, and he sharply averts his gaze when she makes eye-contact. That smarmy grin is still on her lips, but her eyes make his body tingle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever.” He says quickly, mostly in a futile attempt to gather his composure, “If we’re going to be traveling buddies then you really ought to tell me your name.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A laugh makes him look at her again and he swallows thickly. Her eyes narrow, an overwhelming predatory aura coming off her very being that makes his face feel warm, and Irial becomes very much aware of how long these future nights will likely become when she says her next words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you can keep calling me Master.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Irial is such a tsundere slut, hah. This story has been stuck in my head for a while so it was high time I wrote it. Tentacles are fun.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Hard Work Gets Rewarded (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Didn't think there was enough tentacles in the first part? Me neither. So I wrote more tentacles like a month ago but never posted it. So, here ya go.</p><p>Anyway, Irial and 'Master' do some treasure hunting and the barest hint of a plot comes peeking its head out.</p><p>Includes: Cunnilingus, tentacles that involve anal sex and a, ahem, throat creampie.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The jungle had reclaimed the abandoned temple. Plants have tendrils that permeate the stone blocks, slowly weakening the structure. Emerald green moss grows against the ramshackled ziggurat, and the vast vines wrap around it like a snake about to suffocate somebody. Distantly, a sound of colossal waves crashing down from a waterfall can be heard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Inside, Irial inspects the fragmentary remains of purposely destroyed stone effigies, long forgotten idols, that litter the temple and its immediate boundary. They’re nothing valuable so he keeps exploring further deeper in the temple for any long lost treasure. It’s hot and humid, and sweat clings to his shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, ever since he started traveling with Master and receiving payment for his… nightly duties, he’s managed to get new clothes. He keeps his wardrobe simple and efficient, with a pair of form fitting canvas trousers and a comfortable cotton shirt with loosely fitting sleeves that are removable. The shirt itself is white, with the shoulders, collar, neckline, and sleeve of this shirt all being accented with brown. It’s simple and gets the job done, just how he likes it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial makes sure to scan every nook and cranny, while the temple is abandoned and dilapidated, that doesn’t mean there aren’t any traps. It didn’t take long for them to find their first skeleton upon entering. The poor schmuck had been cleaved in half by a giant swinging axe attached to the ceiling that’s now embedded in the wall. Unfortunately, the skeleton had no valuables on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it doesn’t take long for him to find what he suspects is another trap. A floor tile is slightly higher than the rest, and he has the itching feeling that if he were to step on it there’s going to be a sudden barrage of poison arrows shot out of the wall. He’s in the middle of a corridor. Of course it’ll be arrows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes some steps back, then propels himself forward in a sprint and he leaps over the tile. There must have been another tile, because there’s still a </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he absolutely leaped over his target and he quickly has to roll and do some fancy footwork to avoid just one single arrow. An old trap that isn’t effective as it once was, but a trap nonetheless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A clap makes him look back at the corridor he just exited, seeing Master applaud him with her typical smarmy grin that shows off her brilliant white teeth. If Irial’s clothing is mainly picked for convenience and efficiency for exploring, then Master’s… Well, Master’s clothes just seem to be showing off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An exceedingly stylish navy blue jacket with richly decorated brocade. The tail of the jacket falls to just-above the knees and it features fitted, full-length sleeves that end in cuffs. It’s paired with a pair of breeches and a white ruffled shirt. A prim and proper noblewoman.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, not exactly something someone wears while they’re traipsing around the jungle. And yet, no matter how long they travel around here, she’s always… Immaculate. Clean. Irial’s own clothes are stained, and other pairs of pants have been torn— granted, some of those rips weren’t due to the jungle…— and the same sense of immaculate cleanliness to the rest of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not once seen her shining black hair look disheveled, and it’s always in the same ponytail. Her eyes are the shade of acorns, and beneath those clothes is a well defined body that’s overall fit and healthy… really she's somehow gotten more attractive since he's met her. Every bit of Irial’s tastes, so he couldn’t help but feel begrudgingly attracted to her every time she decides to fuck him. Sure, she can be smug and arrogant and he still doesn’t know her name… But there are certainly worse fates, he supposes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stops her lazy clapping, “Nice footwork there. Not quite as impressive as when you did that nifty vertical climb by jumping from one wall to another, but nice nonetheless. The very picture of a dashing rogue.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master takes a step forward, and normally he would exclaim that she’s about to step on a trap, but after traveling with her for several days now… He knows there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The floor tile she steps on sets off several more arrows, but nothing gets close to hitting her. Those tentacles she summons burst forth from the ground, shielding her and destroying several more tiles in the process. Her stroll is casual, with an aura of vanity he’s since become used to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s the general way things are done: Irial goes through the rigamarole of avoiding traps while Master just leisurely walks through everything since her tentacles destroy whatever threatens her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And another thing that’s become commonplace is her brazenly groping him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand grabs onto his thighs, squeezing. “I still can’t believe you said you were never a dancer. And with legs like these? You must be lying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial shakes her off and wags an admonishing finger at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to pay in order to touch me like that.” He reminds her, a rule he had set not too long ago after experiencing far too many nights where he would wake up with her hand under his shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Five silver coins to feel you up for a couple of minutes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever.” He doesn’t expect her to cough up the money then and there, but the next thing he knows is that five silver coins are being shoved in his hands. Before he can even think of pocketing the money, his back hits the wall and Master’s body presses into his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her arms wrap around him, her hands slithering down to greedily grab handfuls of his ass. He can feel her fingernails through his pants, and she squeezes and spreads his cheeks, with her leg going between his. He shivers, stifling a wanton gasp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When her tongue shamelessly licks the nape of his neck Irial musters up whatever little willpower he has to resist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngh… I said you could just feel me up. No fucking until we get the t-treasure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Prude,” she whispers sarcastically. Her grin is vulgar when she gets off him, and when they continue to walk she remains close by his side— keeping a hand on firmly on his ass as she kneads his flesh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At his narrowed side-glance and pressed together lips, she chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Paid five silver coins to feel that ass,” she then gives the back of his thigh a swat, something that makes his shoulders jolt, “And those thighs, too. I intend to put my time to good use.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And unabashedly feel him up she does. Her hand explores his rear quite… thoroughly as they walk and further explore the temple. It makes his cock half hard, but he manages to temper most of his urges. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Treasure, dammit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he chides himself. It’s not as though he’s absolutely pressed for money— Master always does pay him whenever she fucks him, but Irial’s just so used to searching for treasure that it’s a hard habit to shake off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Treasure means being set for life and no longer needing to whore himself out. He can retire from prostitution. But if he were just to have Master as his one and only client… Well, he can certainly live off on her alone but </span>
  <em>
    <span>still. </span>
  </em>
  <span>At this point he wonders if he’s searching for treasure just for the hell of it now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hours continue on and more traps must be avoided. Eventually, Irial feels a burn in his muscles, and resigns that they’ll likely have to set up camp soon and continue on tomorrow. They enter what he assumes is some type of shrine room. What’s left of some statues litter the floor, and a stream of light filters in through cracks in the wall. There’s a mural, but the paint has deteriorated to the point that he can’t figure out what the scene is meant to be.</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks out a spot to set up the sleeping bags and maybe start a fireplace to cook some food, but Master pokes at him with her elbow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wanna make a bet that one of these walls leads to a secret passageway?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That gets his attention. “What makes you suspect that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, a wall that’s actually a door?” She grazes her hand across the wall, fingers dipping into a small hole between two stone blocks, and with a smug grin and </span>
  <em>
    <span>click, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a portion of the wall opens as a door. “Oldest trick in the book.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s lips part in a small </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘o,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>and attempts to hide his sudden boyish excitement by being sarcastic. “You didn’t make a bet, so I guess you don’t get anything.” He looks ahead in the dark passageway, wondering what could possibly be inside there. A golden effigy? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Several</span>
  </em>
  <span> golden effigies? Maybe a tomb of some long forgotten monarch?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master shrugs, eyes seeming to look at something behind him. “And another old trick is following someone who looks like they know what they’re doing and then killing them to steal their hard earned treasure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks, not even able to fully comprehend her words when something cold and sharp is held at his throat. His eyes widen in surprise, and his lips part in a gasp. A dagger…! Irial tersely tries to glance at who the assailant is, only seeing a face obscured with a hood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really, trying to shoot an arrow in his throat and make it look as though he tripped one of the traps, pretty smart I guess.” Master says casually, and Irial grimaces. So he had successfully leapt over the trap, and that arrow was a murder attempt… Lovely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A womanly voice comes from the hooded figure, and his breath hitches when the dagger just barely touches his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate you tripping all the traps for me,” the assailant says sarcastically, her smirk evident in her tone, “Makes things much easier. Just give me a cut of whatever is in that vault, and I’ll let your boy toy go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Boy toy,” Master murmurs, her chin resting on her hand as if she were deep in thought. “Nice. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>my boy toy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial has to suppress an annoyed eye roll, his impatience rising. He remains silent, not wanting to unintentionally spark this woman’s ire and get a dagger in his throat. Now is absolutely not the time to be thinking of that fucking boy toy term, either!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steadfastly ignores the slight heat hitting his cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t even know if there’s anything of worth in there. What if we find nothing?” Master asks casually.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman does not respond and that makes Irial nervous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master puts her hands on her hips, her voice becoming chastising, “And to use him as a hostage. Tsk, tsk. Bullying the weak? That’s not very nice. Only I’m allowed to do that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s jaw tightens, now feeling decidedly unimpressed at Master’s taunts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello! My life is on the line here!! Don’t piss her off, aaargh!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hooded woman makes an annoyed sound, and he swallows, feeling the blade against his vulnerable neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just get in that vault and come out with what’s in it. Don’t test me—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One second he’s got a blade at his throat, and the next second Irial has blood spraying on his face. He hears a </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack, </span>
  </em>
  <span>followed by a disgusting sounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>schlick.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes instinctively, and evidently it takes his assailant several seconds to fully register what just occurred, but soon her scream fills his ears. Her body jerks away from him and he sprints towards Master. Gathering himself, he dares opens his eyes and wipes his face, grimacing at the red that now stains his shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman rolls in the floor in obvious burning pain, her hood down to reveal a head of short blonde hair. Her eyes are wide, eyebrows slanted upwards, and she screams again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My— My fucking hand…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial flinches at her continued shouting and writhing, though he can’t deny the complete lack of concern he’s currently feeling, but he’s not quite so heartless to not be completely affected. A pool of blood lays where he stood, and there’s no hand like he half expects. Instead, a tentacle seeps back into the ground, seemingly dissolving and disappearing in between the floor tiles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches Master just casually stroll towards the woman, the assailant attempting to get away, trembling and hunching her shoulders. For a moment, she looks as though she’s going to yell at Master, likely to spew out some type of threat, but her words die in her throat. Her eyes become even wider, teeth chattering as she violently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t see Master’s face from his angle, but something tells him it’s her expression that’s scaring the shit out of this woman…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m feeling merciful. Go on, scram. Don’t let any other booby traps hit you on the way out.” Master says in a completely nonchalant, sing-song voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman doesn’t need convincing, as she makes a sound reminiscent of an animal dying and proceeds to stumble over herself to run away. Master lets out a single laugh, stretching her arms over her head lazily like she didn’t do… whatever it is she just did. Irial doesn’t know why, but he feels a spike of fear when she turns— only to see a normal, smirking face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks, unsure of what he was expecting. She’s a witch, not a shapeshifter, psh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tries to shake off the sudden feeling of unease by being slightly annoyed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Bullying the weak’?” He says with an unimpressed frown, hands on his hips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master shrugs lazily, “That’s what it looked like to me,” she saunters over towards him, “And I did say only I can bully the weak, my boy toy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her accompanying wink makes him shiver, but he ignores it by pressing his lips together in a petulant pout.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you even do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Used a tentacle to bite off her hand, dagger included,” She brings up her open palm, then closes it in a fist. “Chomp.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What type of plant is this thing supposed to be? I’ve tried looking it up in all the libraries we’ve visited but could never find anything about it.” It’s not the first time he’s pestered about things like this, and it’s not the first time he’s tried to figure out her identity, either, “...And I've been looking up records of famous alumni from the College of Magecraft. A witch as strong as you has to be recorded but I can’t find anyone matching your description. Don’t you think it’s high time for you to tell me who you are?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master brings her hand to her chest, throwing her head back in mock offense. “Oh! First I find the vault, then I save you from a vagrant, and yet still you question me! The least you could do is say thank you. I’m hurt, really I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well… she’s got a point. Irial huffs, “Alright, thank you. But seriously who—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I think I’ve earned a reward for being so, so useful,” Her cocky grin invades his vision as she envelopes him in an embrace, her hands instantly going to grab his ass. “A reward for saving you and a celebration for finding treasure. Come on, I have to bully my boy toy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial opens his mouth, then closes it, face flushing from her hands on his ass and how her breasts press onto his chest. He swallows thickly, rolling his eyes and glancing away. He really shouldn’t be getting hot and bothered so soon after having a dagger pointed at his jugular, and yet his willpower is quickly sapped away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damn her and damn how good getting fuck by her feels…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gasps. “Fine, alright. I guess you’ve earned this so no payment necessary…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snickers, stepping back and twirling her finger to tell him to turn around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take your pants off and bend over.” Master says, taking a small flask of lube out from her pocket. She must have planned for this moment from the start…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial snorts. “You really are such a pervert. So horny after everything. Not normal at all...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget, I’m a miscreant, felon, scumbag, hoodlum, and lowlife,” she replies with another mischievous snicker, and Irial’s cheeks flush. Sure, those are all things he’s muttered or thought about clients before, Master included the first time she fucked him, and now such terms have weirdly become akin to terms of endearment. At least she’s never taken offense, and if anything uses it as an excuse to fuck him harder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not normal either… So eager to be used… Nghmm...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just barely suppresses a prurient sound of desire when he hears Master coat her fingers with lube. He takes off his pants, obediently bending over and putting his hands on his knees, feeling his nipples harden under his shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, she prods at his entrance, slipping a finger into him with ease. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shivers, relishing in the stimulation, one of his hands going to palm his cock. The soft walls of his ass contract around her finger, and he feels Master’s hot breath tickle his cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So hot and tight despite having your ass stretched out constantly. Breaking you down over and over again… Really gives me no greater joy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her words are so crude, and vaguely threatening, but it makes the blood rush straight to his cock. Master’s finger pumps in and out of him, his ass slowly loosening up. She adds another finger, and of course the lurid noises of having something wet fuck him comes next. It doesn’t take long for her to bury her fingers up to her knuckles, and naturally she then adds a third.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngh… You r-really… are the worst, Master,” he breathes, something she’s clearly into since she cruelly hooks her fingers and promptly makes his knees buckle. He pumps his cock to full hardness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stretches out her three fingers inside him which makes him briefly see stars. His breathing comes out in short bursts, and just as quickly, she exits him. With any other person, he’d whine from that, but he knows that with Master that that only means the main event is about to start. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial remains in his bent over position as Master walks around him, taking off her own pants and lying on her back in front of him. Then she snaps her fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something thick, hard and wet assails his anus. A very familiar sensation at this point, but it never fails to feel jarring when a tentacle forces its way into him. It’s merciless in how it pries him apart, all wet and warm. Several other tendrils sprout from the ground to twist around him to bind him, picking him off the ground and making him completely powerless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still can’t believe these things are supposed to be plants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmnh… Better make it good for a celebration.” He moans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you worry. I’m gonna fuck you senseless.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Master had first fucked him with tentacles in that club, he tried to convince himself that he loathed it, but his body had responded on its own and it continues to do so. Even now, his mind tingles lusciously, and he’s since stopped trying to deny that he doesn’t at least enjoy being violated in such a manner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tentacles holding Irial brings his face close to Master’s exposed pussy and he stretches out his tongue and teases her labia. While the tentacle in his ass gets to work quickly, moving in and out of him in quick succession, he gently traces the outline of the inner lips of Master’s cunt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once again, he’s surprised about how well groomed she is despite the fact they’ve been traveling in the jungle for weeks now. She’s not dirty down there. She even smells like she’s recently washed herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His tongue delves deeper into her, just as the tentacle reaches further into his stretched out anus. Irial wets her pussy with his saliva while her sticky, feminine discharge begins to wash over the inner folds of her labia.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly but surely, Master begins to let out long, pleased sighs out of her nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Such talent you have. Always worth the money I spend on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial rolls his tongue around her clit, and sucks on it. The tentacle, meanwhile, continues to move rhythmically. His trained, domesticated cock— Master’s words, not his! And yet the thought of his own cock being ‘domesticated’ just makes him feel harder— twitches in delight, especially when a separate tentacle envelopes his drooling member. Briefly, his reminds himself these these things apparently have the power to fucking bite people’s hands off, but the danger somehow makes it all the more thrilling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The inside of Irial’s head is coated with euphoric, masochistic pleasure. Moreso when Master flicks her hand and suddenly another tentacle smacks his ass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmng…!” He moans while eating her out diligently, and his ass is hit again but with more force. Irial’s at a loss for words as he gasps hard, “Mhn… Ahg…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re squealing in such a nice voice with my cunt grinding your face. Maybe Ra— the moon goddess’ blessing means you were destined to please me, heh,” her voice is steadier than his ever will be, always in charge no matter the amount of pleasure she lavishly gives herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master grins, looking down at his face as it twists sluttishly from the unrelenting stimulation assaulting his asshole and cock. He knows she gets off at the sight of him being debased. The tentacle again pushes its way through his soaking wet flesh, its pistoning steadily increasing in ferocity. The undulating folds the appendage wrapped around his cock makes his spine tingle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s been fucked more times than he counts at this point, but the lurid squelching noises of these damn tentacles being snugly buried into his depths and embracing him never ceases to make an unrelenting heat uncoil inside of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master’s hips grind against his lips, her wetness trickles down from her pussy and onto the floor. Feeling as though it’s a waste to just let her fluids just dribble out, Irial begins licking and sucking on her cunt more forcefully to lap up her juices as thoroughly as he could. Her clit twitches under his tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tip of his cock feels fit to burst when Master cums on his face. His hips tremble, asshole clenching. His entire body feels wet and slimy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the tentacles holding him and keeping him in place. The plant’s secretions trickle down his skin, bathing him, and the tentacle wrapped around his cock tightens. It’s overwhelming at the best of times, but right now the tendril trembles even harder, each contraction sending a wave of pleasure to wash over him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the one assaulting his ass strikes inside of him, hitting his prostate with tremendous force that forces Irial to arch his spine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Voice going falsetto, he chatters his teeth and tries to withstand the bewitching delectation that he drowns in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guh...agh— F-fuck, nghn…!” He lets out a shrill, joyous moan against Master’s satisfied pussy. Another tentacle slaps his ass yet again. “Ah! Ah! Shit—!! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m g-gonna.. Mggh… c-c-cuuuum…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His youthful, muscular body squirms and thrashes, beads of tentacle secretions mixed with his sweat flying. His eyes roll back and musters whatever strength he has left to cum inside the tentacle. It continues to tighten around his shaft, coaxing out more, and he kicks his legs at the feeling of the appendage in his ass continuing to hit his prostate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It also finishes. Warm, thick liquid gushes into his anus, and his body twitches in the aftershocks of everything. The tentacles gently set him down, but not on the floor, instead he’s placed atop Master with his head on her chest. His ass squeezes tightly when the tentacle exits him, as though reluctant to let go of the receding appendage. With one final </span>
  <em>
    <span>squelch, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it leaves him, as do the rest of the tentacles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fluids spew out of his quivering, gaping asshole. Irial had just experienced a type of orgasm that makes his hair stand on end, and his body twitches every now and then. When Master’s hand entangles her hand in his hair, he jolts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wuh… mhm!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her lips crash on his, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth. Undoubtedly she can taste herself, but it doesn’t stop her. The kiss is wet and sloppy, and she ends it by sucking on his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial blinks heavily, and she pats his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go to sleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His vision gradually darkens, body limp and heavy from tiredness. He can’t make a reply to her other than putting his head between her breasts. Her fingers card through his hair in a deceptively soft action, and his eyelids droop when he realizes the tentacles are cleaning him with a warm cloth. He completely forgets about what he wanted to ask her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes, the last image he sees being Master’s lopsided grin, and the last thing he hears before drifting into unconsciousness is her making an appreciative noise.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fully dressed and feeling reinvigorated from sleeping until next morning after all that, Irial rubs his hands together in excitement as he stares at the chest. The vault had led to a dusty room full of parchment papers, and a single, large chest in the middle of the room. It’s old, obviously, but still manages to look ornate with its ivory etchings and carvings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wonder what’s inside…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master leans on the wall, checking her nails and seemingly disinterested. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Open it up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s heart rate picks up in growing anticipation. First thing he’s gonna do with the money he’ll get from selling whatever’s in here is spoil himself in a spa somewhere. Get spoiled and pampered, fuck yeah! Then he’s going to rent out the most expensive hotel room and get even more spoiled!! Eat the best food, too!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opens the chest quickly while keeping his eyes closed, then opens them after taking a deep breath to prepare himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Disappointment doesn’t quite describe the sinking feeling he’s assaulted with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chest is empty, except for a single parchment of paper with a message crudely scrawled onto it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone got here before you did, hahaha!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Throwing his head back, Irial covers his face with his hand and groans loudly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aaaargh! Fuck!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands and angrily kicks at the offending chest, and Master looks over the note.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Another dud, huh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial kicks at it again, scowling, “Don’t remind me that this is the third time we found fucking nothing. Argh! How is it someone always beats us to the punch?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Inwardly, he’s both annoyed and relieved— because this will technically be an excuse to keep Master but it’s inevitable to feel disappointment finding nothing after traversing an entire goddamn jungle. At the very least he can calm himself with a warm meal so he stomps off to their makeshift camp, continuously kicking at dirt whenever he feels another spike of ire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sits down on his bundles of blankets with a huff, angrily opening his knapsack and subsequently immediately feeling even more pissed off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How the fuck is there nothing in here?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tries checking other bags, finding a distinct lack of food and groans loudly. Master emerges from the vault and joins him on her own bed, looking completely nonchalant despite their sudden food storage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scowls, “Tch… Don’t tell me I forgot our food at our previous camp outside the temple…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you say you were in charge of keeping an eye out for our food because you didn’t trust me with doing something funny with your meals?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sting of heat hits his cheeks. He rubs his forehead, a migraine quickly forming from the sheer amount of irritation he’s currently feeling from the abject failure this escapade has been. Maybe he should sleep it off. Yeah. He absolutely should. A nap makes everything better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial attempts to settle in his sleeping bag, but a rumbling in his stomach makes him grimace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...That’s what I get for thinking about food.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hungry?” Master asks with mirth in her tone, and he wraps the blanket tighter around himself, trying to ignore the discomfort in his stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I miscalculated how long we’d be here and now we’re out of food. Either that or I really did forget it somewhere. Luckily we’ll be back in town sometime tomorrow,” he mumbles. “Just need to deal with it for now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The light from the several holes in the ceiling makes shadows dance on Master’s face, and he watches her fox-like eyes narrow mischievously, like she’s just thought of a plan. Great, now he’s probably going to get no sleep because of whatever she wants to do now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who says we’re out of food?” She asks nonchalantly, and Irial raises a questioning brow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just told you. I checked. We don’t have anything left, ugh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, ah,” she tuts, “That doesn’t mean we don’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s about to furrow his brows together and ask her what the hell she’s going on about when the floor beneath him shakes suddenly, and a floor tile cracks, revealing a tentacle sprouting out. Irial sits up, eying the pulsating, fleshy looking plant. He gives Master a side glance and frowns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You eat these?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not the tentacle itself the… you know,” she waves her hand flippantly, “The cum. Mucus? Nectar? Whatever you want to call it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial feels his cheeks flush and throws her an annoyed look. Sure, whatever comes out of those tentacles tastes like warm honey, and vaguely settles in comfortably in his stomach whenever he has to swallow the… </span>
  <em>
    <span>ahem, </span>
  </em>
  <span>plant cum, but to use it as a full on meal?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master snickers, her hand coming down to pat on his back condescendingly, “Oh come on. Don’t give me that look. I know you love choking on this stuff! I’ll have you know it’s full proteins and other healthy shit! All part of a balanced meal. Don’t you feel refreshed and energized whenever you wake up from getting fucked into unconsciousness? Besides, use it as an opportunity to get your mind off the lack of treasure. It’ll cheer you up!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d roll his eyes again, but he keeps his gaze on the tentacle that almost looks expectant. He can't quite deny that he always feels energized after getting fucked, only because he has to fucking sleep when unconscious, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t deny that he does feel full whenever he gets a stomach full of tentacle jizz. Despite the honey-like taste, it never gets to the point where it’s too sweet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master flips three gold coins on his lap, seemingly materializing the precious currency out of thin air, and his jaw tightens before sighing. With how she looks at him, he’s like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat. There may be no treasure, but three gold coins is still a hefty amount for anyone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you basically want me to give this thing a blowjob?” As more embarrassing heat and </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>quickly fills him— fuck, he’s such an easy whore. Goddammit— he attempts to flip the situation on her with a small smirk. “What about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aren’t you hungry? It’s been a full day since our last meal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope. I’m just here to watch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d think her shit eating grin was insufferable if he wasn’t already busy getting hot and bothered by the entire situation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Again. </span>
  </em>
  <span>D-Dammit… why is her having him wrapped around her finger so… enticing…?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind harkens back to her ripping that adventurer’s hand off… her exuding power and predatory aura, how she’s just so fucking strong and intentionally ambiguous about who she is…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It… kind of— No, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>turns him on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rolling his shoulders, he takes the blankets off of him and runs a hand through his hair. He slides his body closer to the tentacle, but Master tuts at him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't want you to just sit in front of it. I want you on all fours. Give me a show. The tentacle won’t do a thing, you’ll be doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>allllll</span>
  </em>
  <span> the work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shudders, getting on his hands and knees. His pants already feel tight, and he can feel Master’s hungry eyes on his ass, her hand caressing his rear gently before she gives him a tap to begin. It’ll probably become a full on spank if he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial presses his lips together. It never ceases to confound him about how much these things really do look like cocks sometimes. Hell, some of them look and feel like pussies, too. Just what fucking plant is this anyway? Thinking about the thick, warm liquid that’s inside of this thing, which also secretes out of its skin… He licks his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s shaped like a cock, but it’s also so much bigger than the average cock. He knows it’ll squeeze and stroke his throat, and most of all, his mouth will hurt by the end of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reminds himself the cum, mucus, nectar— whatever the fuck it is, must surely be an aphrodisiac. Irial knows he can get off just by giving it oral service because of it. It’s happened before, and goddammit now his pants are getting even tighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The aphrodisiac from his last fuck must still be affecting him, because his body is burning up, and he keeps thinking of the ecstasy these things give him. Beads of sweet-smelling sweat trickle down his brown skin, and his nipples harden under his linen shirt once more. It’s… the aphrodisiac! It has to be!! Why else would he say what he does?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Th… Thank you for the meal…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he says it with a lewd grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, they’re both such lowly miscreants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hand on his ass squeezes his cheek. “I thought you were hungry,” Master says, voice low and dangerous, and Irial’s eyebrows quiver.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she smacks his ass, he bites down a groan and resolves himself. He opens his mouth with all his strength, and brings it down to the pointed head of the tentacle. Irial transforms his lust and wavering chagrin into willpower, swallowing the appendage as far as he can, making gurgling noises all the while he does so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kugh… Mgnh…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mouth is already sensitive. Just by stuffing his cheeks with the tentacle he experiences enough pleasure to make his spine shiver. Breathing heavily through his nose, Irial further brings the tentacle further down his mouth. It doesn’t take long for the previous ire of finding no treasure to just disappear, replaced by the enjoyment of being used again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>P-Power of… aphrodisiacs… is something else.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s so focused on servicing this thing that he doesn’t notice Master’s hand leaving his ass, only to go to the back of his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ogh… nghmm?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, suddenly, his head is held firmly down. He closes his eyes tightly as he’s forced to swallow more of the tentacle, and it goes to the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You cock loving skank,” Master laughs, “Suck it more quickly. I want you to do it fast and sloppily. Just really get in there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gugnn…! Taking… Taking id all… id all in…” The sensation of overwhelming humiliation mixes divinely with a feeling of pleasure. It was like his mouth had been transformed into a lewd sex organ, just there for the purpose of getting this tentacle off— and by extension, getting Master off. Her voice and breathing are heated, making his toes curl in his socks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That looks painful. But you like it that way don’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master puts strength in her hand, pushing him further down and he feels like his airway is getting blocked off by the thick, pulsating, wet appendage. From having his mouth and throat pried open so firmly makes his head ache with primal desire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pulls his head so that the tentacle halfway out of his mouth, then pushes him back to swallow it deep down his throat. Irial drips with a cold sweat, his body shivering from the feeling of suffocation, ecstasy flowing through his veins at being treated so roughly. His lips stretch around its shaft, sucking it and stroking it with his mouth and throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master keeps pulling and pushing his head, relentlessly grinding the tentacle into his defenseless orifice. His mouth goes back and forth, and she gives him a brief reprieve by allowing him to completely spit out the tentacle for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agh—! Guh… haah… haah…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s breathing is ragged, and he slobbishly opens his mouth, drool trickling down his chin. The viscous honey-like fluid clings to the tentacle, as well as the back of his throat. There are strands of it between the tentacle and his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cock strains against his pants, but he barely focuses on it. His eyes, rapt with attentive pleasure, stares down at the tentacle and lets out heated sighs when he is forcibly pushed down onto the long, thick, cock shaped plant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it was from the secretions of the tentacle that he had begun to taste, but his mouthwork has a new sort of energy to it now. It’s an energy that likely makes Master’s hand leave his hand, and a quick side glance reveals she’s stuffing it down her pants. She grins wolfishly, laughing all the while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really are an experienced prostitute, huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial brings the tentacle in his mouth nice and deep, swinging his face back and forth furiously while squeezing it with his constricting throat. Every time it grazes his uvula and goes deeper, pleasure like an electric shock pierces the back of his brain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not just his head that heaves back and forth— he begins moving his entire body in tandem, making his ass bob up and down lasciviously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s an intense, sloppy fellatio. The obscene noises he makes echoes throughout the dilapidated temple.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just what Master wants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...And such a realization makes his cock feel painfully hard, dripping precum. Such an easy man. So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>easy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Drool spews around his lips, and his oral sex becomes so forceful that he feels as though he might pass out from suffocation. And yet, he lavishly embraces the tentacle by gouging it down his throat without slowing down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>painful… the harder he goes… the better it feels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial bucks his ass. Master casts a dirty smile at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drink up, slut!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her free hand seizes the back of his head, pushing him down once more, reaching the hilt of the tentacle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fughn…!! Ngh!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tentacle </span>
  <em>
    <span>ejaculates </span>
  </em>
  <span>down his bulging throat with the force of surging waves. The fluid relentlessly struck him. Raising quivering, desperate moans, Irial makes his entire body shake violently. The juices are crammed into his stomach while he struggles to breathe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the agonizing torture, he loudly swallows the dense fluid while Master grinds his head against the tentacle. His cheeks bulge, but even so, his lips continue to latch onto the shaft while his body convulses. The bumps and grooves of the tentacle provide a sensation of hard friction, and Irial experiences mind numbing pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The suffocation makes his throat squirm, but he still manages to retain his consciousness. The cum nearly overflows from his lips. His face is undoubtedly contorting into a shameful expression, but he continues swallowing as though his life depends on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which… it </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind of </span>
  </em>
  <span>did. At least, it begins to feel like he’s drowning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he keeps swallowing</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And swallowing</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And swallowing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His stomach feels heavy, rumbling, and continuously subjected to a dull ache. The fluid drips from his lips now, even beginning to come out of his nostrils. His breathing is completely obstructed and Irial’s eyes roll back, tears falling down his cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until finally, the hand holding him down leaves, and he’s able to spit the tentacle out and heaves. The fluid, drool and tears stream down his chin. He’s freed from the danger of suffocation, but since he just guzzled down heaps of a presumed aphrodisiac, he belatedly realizes he came as he was swallowing everything. A noticeable stain appears on his crotch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like every time he is fucked by a tentacle, his mind is hazy… Almost like it has broken. It’s certainly taken his mind off the lack of treasure, because he finds he can’t really think of anything at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unconsciously, he wiggles his ass, looking at Master with heavy eyelids and knowing she particularly likes it when he talks in such a debauched state.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Th—nnghm… Thank you… bereh mush… for deh… meal...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master throws her head back in a bark of laughter, her thighs tightening and Irial assumes she had hooked a finger in her cunt. When she looks down on him, something shivers down his spine when her eyes look </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not finished. I need you unconscious for </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>meal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before her words can cement themselves in his mind, her hand forces him down onto the tentacle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guh?! Goh...Nghm…!!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It goes right down the back of his throat again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not understanding what’s happening, Irial opens his eyes wide and writhes in delicious agony.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having the back of his throat poked by this mucilaginous appendage again cuts off his breathing. His nose is still clogged up by the gooey, viscous fluid and his body spasms. Any attempt to breathe makes him sound like a snorting pig.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His consciousness flickers. A blackout curtain begins to fall over Irial’s field of vision, and he sees stars. Master guffaws loudly as she cruelly grounds the tip of the tentacle in the back of his throat again and again. He starts twitching, and continues to make low groans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As his consciousness fades and body becomes slack, he only just barely catches onto Master’s distant sounding words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The essence of Raphael… really is the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>best.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Darkness envelopes Irial, and he falls into unconsciousness.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should head up north.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stand in a fork in the road, one pointing to the town they stayed in before going to the abandoned temple, the other pointing to a new area Irial has never traversed before. He eyes her skeptically, and she harrumphs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s still a town nearby this way, so you’ll get your food. No need for another throat fucking, heh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face flushes at the memory of it, hand instinctively going to rub his still sore throat. His memory is a little hazy… but he feels like he somehow missed something incredibly important in the middle of the debauchery. He hates to admit how full and refreshed he felt after he woke up, and even Master seems to have a pep in her step, but he highly doubts she would ever blow one of her tentacles… That just feels wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He presses his lips together, “Where does the north lead to?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alesnarovich!” Master replies smugly, and Irial blinks, for a moment wondering if she just chanted some type of spell at him before realizing it’s the name of a country.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh? Isn’t that… </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>up north?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s the point,” she grins, flipping her hair with her hand, “Don’t you think it’s time to get out of this hot and humid jungle? We oughta visit a place that snows a lot to cool off. Besides, plenty of treasure to be found there, I swear! The paladins up there are really stingy about keeping their things in order… Ripe for stealing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to steal anything!” At Master’s sarcastic look, Irial feels himself becoming more indignant. “Treasure hunting is different! No one cared about that temple. I’m not stealing anything from some paladin’s church!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master pouts, then shrugs. “I say we should still go. Plenty of abandoned shit there, besides, it’ll be fun!” Her eyes glint with mischief, “I just want to go to cause a ruckus… The last time I went there I tried opening one of my clubs, but they whined about me being blasphemous against their precious Saint so they tried to burn me at the stake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why the hell would you want to go back then?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her lips form in a haughty smirk. “Awh, are you worried for me?” Irial’s cheeks flush even further as she continues, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “It’ll be all hunky-dory. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>pretty strong. Okay, I promise I won’t cause a ruckus but still, we should go up north. Just think of the possibilities— For a treasure hunter, it’s untouched land ripe for the picking! Don’t you at least want to do the sightseeing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She seems weirdly insistent, and Irial doesn’t protest as they begin to walk north. He’d be lying if he didn’t at least want to travel more… He’s only ever done treasure hunting in his home country, since he’s always been a little bit too nervous of going too far by himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...And Master is obviously very useful when it comes to traveling. She actually makes him feel safe in… weirdly twisted ways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she’s right, there are probably lots of potential new treasure to find there, and maybe sell back to the paladins. Not a terrible idea, he thinks…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a piddling sense of curiosity in the back of his head that doesn’t leave him, and he finds himself mulling over Master’s true identity. A… strong witch, right? That doesn’t feel so right anymore…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They travel north, everything gradually becoming more cold with each town and city they go to. Irial sees a lot of new things, and… He does end up sucking on more tentacles, even without the need to quench his hunger… Sometimes he just does it because Master wants him to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because he wants to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn aphrodisiacs...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They travel northwards for the next couple of months. It’s eventful, and Irial sees many new things, namely how northerners are very particular at having churches in the most random of areas. On mountain tops, in the middle of nowhere in a flat plain, on the bank of a river, once there was a congregation in a goddamn cave. Without fail, there was always a priestess of the Saints, and the grounds of the church were lovingly cared for, which frankly impressed him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another thing he quickly learned is that northerners have a habit of being nomadic, which perhaps explains the weirdly placed churches. Irial and Master stroll around a hug of houses that together made a village. The houses themselves can be taken down and moved, and the inhabitants move where the weather and herds of caribou takes them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not winter, though there is still melting snow on the ground. Irial’s breaths come out in visible puffs and he rubs his gloved hands together. It’s not the cold that’s the only difference between Alesnarovich and his home country— he and Master stand out due to being some of the only people having a skin tone darker than the actual snow, and obviously his hair is a point of interest. Everyone here is fairly pale, likely due to the lack of sun with how bloody cold it can get. Luckily, it hasn’t caused any issues. Just some staring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, really only one person stares at them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s not even staring at them. Irial is fairly certain the eyes are on Master.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Do you think someone here remembers when you tried to open a brothel here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cocks her head at him, “Staring bothers you that much?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s pretty open about it,” he turns his head, the man— a farmer, from what he can tell— averts his gaze quickly. “...And he’s bad at hiding it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He won't be a problem.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What makes you say that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Women’s intuition.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial rolls his eyes, clutching his jacket closer to his body in hopes of getting warmth. “Let’s just get to the nearest inn…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that moment, there’s a rush of footsteps behind them, and his expression tightens when he turns his head to see that the farmer is suddenly coming towards them. And he’s the one person who seems to have a semblance of a tan around here, along with brown coiffed hair and some stubble… And his big, broad shoulders means he’s probably muscular under those clothes. Irial swallows in nervousness along with something… else…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eyes, he sees Master’s lips twitch in a smirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily for him, however, the farmer just jogs straight past them, soon hugging the arm of an armoured woman with long dark hair and a strong jawline. The stylized symbol of a feathered wing on her polished breastplate tells him she’s a paladin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Svetlana!” The farmer titters on happily, “Perfect timing!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, maybe he was overthinking things. They should find an inn already, except Master’s hand on his shoulder keeps him rooted, and she whispers in his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you like men as well? Is that why you’re so good at sucking off tentacles?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial coughs, cheeks flushing and he throws a half hearted glare at her crude words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It makes her grin grow wider, lips parting to show her teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please, I can smell it off you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His annoyed whispering is promptly interrupted by the farmer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Boss!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks again, realizing that he’s referring to… Master?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is my boss,” the farmer says, then he gestures to the woman he’s hugging the arm of, “And this is my wifey, Svetlana!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh? What the hell is going on? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the midst of his bewilderment, he realizes this man doesn’t have an accent like the rest of these northerners. He looks back and forth between Master and this Svetlana lady as they shake hands. The paladin raises a skeptical brow, eyes flicking to her husband as though she is asking a silent question, and she looks at Irial curiously, taking special note of his white hair but otherwise not paying attention to him. Master looks as though she’s trying to not outright chuckle at something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I wouldn’t say boss,” Master says, still grinning. “You being married probably means you’ve retired, huh? Been a while since I’ve seen you anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By boss,” Svetlana says, words slow and clearly dripping with suspicion, “does that mean…?” A nod from the farmer seems to confirm it, and she clicks her tongue. “You shouldn’t be here. Did you come just to cause trouble?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master steps forward, and suddenly an air of mutual animosity blankets over the two women.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh? Huh? Huh?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master sneers, almost laughing, “The sheer irony of you saying that. Do you think I’m here to do some blasphemy? And when your marriage is like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I bet whenever this slut bends over you grab his hips and pretend to fuck him. Your precious Saint would smite you where you stand if she were still here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the fact both women seem like they want to rip each other’s faces off, the farm man is still so nonchalant and apparently oblivious, or maybe he doesn’t think it’s a big deal despite the fact she basically just insulted him! Irial shakes his head, deciding he needs some goddamn clarity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait, wait,” he calls out, all eyes on him now, “What— I’m confused. What the hell is going on here? Who are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The farmer perks up, outstretching a hand towards him. “Ah! Whoops, totally forgot to introduce myself! I’m Ta—” He pauses, “Ta… Taaaaaaaaa….” He glances at Svetlana.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tatarinos Yakov Dmitrivich.” She whispers quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tatarinos Yakov Dmitrivich!” He repeats happily, shifting on his feet and eyes glinting with excitement that just serves to further bewilder Irial. “Such pretty hair you have!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s seen a lot of suspicious things… Master being the cause of about 90% of them… But good god was that suspicious. A northern name without a northern accent? What the hell is going on?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s suddenly dragged away by the wrist, and Master waves at the paladin and her husband.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And his name is Irial. We’re awfully tired. It’s taken a couple of months to get here. Give us an hour or two and meet us at the tavern. We’ve got lots of catching up to do, Tatarinos.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mind an unfocused mess as he attempts to make sense of anything but failing miserably. Loathe as he to admit it, one of the feelings mixed in is the barest hint of… jealousy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Boss, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the man said, and again for what feels like the umpteenth time he wonders about Master’s true identity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind stays on it, his curiosity fueled by a sense of annoyance. Goddammit, he may be a fucking boy toy but doesn't want to be kept in the dark about everything!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as soon as they pay for a room in an inn, he confronts her about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who the hell are you?” He spits out, standing in front of the room’s door just in case she tries to get out of this discussion… despite how much he knows she could just throw him to the side. Master sits on the bed cross legged, snickering softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m your Master,” she says in a sing-song voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial furrows his brows together in annoyance, “Seriously! I think I’ve earned the right to know already! Especially if you really just came here to cause trouble! Why did that guy call you boss? Boss of what?! And what was up with the paladin!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not satisfied with thinking I’m a witch anymore?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you one?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not like I ever agreed to that assumption. Witches </span>
  <em>
    <span>wish</span>
  </em>
  <span> they had my power.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial stomps his foot in exasperation and with an irritated huff. He runs a hand through his hair in quick succession. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master, clearly very amused, lies down on the bed leisurely. “I’m the boss of many clubs. You know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>brothels.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You could say Talran was one of my workers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes another sound of exasperation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now who’s Talran?!”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She pauses, blinking, then shrugs. “Talran’s the name of Tatarinos. It was pretty obvious that was a fake alias, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why would he need an alias? I mean, yeah it was obviously a fake name, but… why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know paladins are a puritan type. If word got out that he worked in my brothel… yeah, wouldn’t fly very well with these people.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Narrowing his eyes, Irial doesn’t feel very convinced that’s all there is to it. Master has more history with these paladins than she’s letting on, and if she’s not a powerful witch… then where does her power come from?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just… tell me your name,” he mutters bitterly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heh, just dying from curiosity, huh?” She reaches forward to grab a book on the bedside table, flipping through it idly. From where he stands, Irial can see it’s a book of holy scripture from the paladins. They’ve got a habit of preaching at any chance they can get. Master eyes glean with amusement as she reads it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll give you a hint. Your moon goddess and these paladin’s Saint Rosilia are the same person.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now he just feels more frustration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell does that have to do with your identity?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a brief second, she actually looks as though she’s surprised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?” She says, then she stifles another laugh. “I knew the belief in her was waning but dang that’s rough, heh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial frowns. “...Are you implying she’s real? But— my hair… it’s just a rare mutation like having red hair is…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, she doesn’t bother to stifle it. She bursts out in a bellowing laugh, doubling over with several pats to her right leg after she flings the holy book across the room. “Hahaha! Not even those blessed by her even believe in her anymore! And the paladins who try to follow her lead even get her fucking name wrong and don’t know about those with white hair anymore! Hah! This is great!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wipes a tear from her eye, “That’s what you get for abandoning them, Raphael, ahahaha!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kicks out her legs, heaving, and when she’s finished she's got a pleased look in her eyes, and Irial suddenly feels like… that he’s opened the door to a big secret, territory he maybe shouldn’t have treaded into. In a flash that happens too quickly for him to fully register, he swears he sees her pupils turn into demonic slits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know, I didn't want to reveal my identity because it always causes a stir. It's really fucking troublesome, but I guess the gig is up."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The floorboards creak when she stands, and while she looks— </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal, </span>
  </em>
  <span>there is something overwhelming in the way she just leisurely struts towards him. Irial’s knees shake, his throat becomes parched, and he becomes intimately aware he’s in the same room with someone the paladins tried to kill for probably a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> good reason.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Clearly you’re not very well versed in Raphael’s legends. Hell, you think she’s a goddess, so of course you don’t. But if you read any of her scripture you’d know her nemesis was a persistent bitch who eats a person’s essence, or life force as some humans like to call it, by fucking them stupid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial feels a surge of warmth hit his cheeks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fucked stupid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>yeah… </span>
  <em>
    <span>I was definitely fucked stupid a couple of times.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those times he went unconscious were not just because he was tired…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll give you another hint. Talran isn’t human, and neither am I. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> his boss, and it’s not because I happen to own a couple of brothels. And while I’m being so gracious— what about another hint? Your blessing from Raphael, no matter how small and insignificant it may be since it only affects your hair colour now… It makes your essence </span>
  <em>
    <span>mighty </span>
  </em>
  <span>tasty. Many of your ‘clients’ were not humans either. There was a reason I chose to fuck you, and then become your traveling companion.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She puts her hands on either side of his head, trapping him. She licks her lips, and while Irial’s mind screams out </span>
  <em>
    <span>danger </span>
  </em>
  <span>something else completely overtakes all other emotions—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Excitement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master’s warmth breath tickles his face, and he feels a bead of sweat go down his forehead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My name…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only thing he sees is her. The only thing he feels is her. The only thing he hears is her. He knows now that he’s never been under the influence of an aphrodisiac, not once. From the very start, he’s always just enjoyed it, because the woman in front of him in the embodiment of </span>
  <em>
    <span>lust.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The Lord of Demons herself—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...is Asmodeus.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you need a reminder: Svetlana and Talran are characters from Chapter 14: "Blasphemy Never Tastes so Sweet." They'll show up in the next part, which will also be in Asmodeus' POV.</p><p>As always, comments are appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Hard Work Gets Rewarded (Part 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some of Asmodeus' backstory is revealed, among other things.</p><p>Includes: Foursome that's not really a foursome I guess, blowjobs (male on male), anal sex (male on male), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, whipping, corruption (I guess??).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Asmodeus' horns are like those of a four horned Jacob sheep.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The stars were their battlefield.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the serenade of the black, the starlight is a choir; they are lights that sing in infinite patterns. When the two beings clashed, that was its own symphony, the brilliant bursts of white each time they battled appeared like shooting stars to the humans on the land far, far below.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moonlight brought a comforting beauty to the graphite night, even more so when the moon’s namesake goddess— also known as an angel, or just a normal physician that one time several centuries ago— whatever she’s going by nowadays… Point is, the moonlight was strikingly more beautiful when Raphael’s pure white hair and robes glistened and shone in the luminescence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus gritted her teeth when Raphael’s blindingly golden spear nearly chops her head off. Again. That was a particularly humiliating defeat she has no intention of experiencing again. She released the tension in her wings, propelling herself further upwards into the abyss of the black sky, heading closer and closer to the moon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael didn’t take long to catch up, obviously. She had her own set of wings. And not just two. Oh no, she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>six </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking wings, the goddamn show off. All white and feathered to really ham up that stupid fucking holy maiden image she had to keep up with. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Psh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>pretentious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course the humans ate that shit up. There was always at least one group welcoming her with open arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile Asmodeus was here with wings that are reminiscent to a bat’s, with four— very impressive, she might add!— horns, a spiked tail and black sclera. So when </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>presents herself to humans in this form they’re all like </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh nooo, it’s the avatar of lust! It’s the Lord of Demons!! We’re all going to die, wah, wah, waaaah!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This fucking puritan and her worshippers needlessly pissed off with their lies, too! She doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> people when she fucks them. She just eats up their essence. Total difference! It doesn’t even knock off any years off their life. Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’s killed some folk here and there when she’s thrown them into the bottomless pit, but that’s another topic and also those people absolutely deserved it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, right, on the topic of the bottomless pit— She summoned it to attack Raphael.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Abaddon!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It materialized out of nothing, because it</span>
  <em>
    <span> is</span>
  </em>
  <span> nothing. At least, it was the embodiment of an endless abyss that existed in another plane of existence. Neverending tentacles completely under her control. A wet, sticky void if it swallowed someone up… Some humans have appropriately called the realm of the dead… Despite the fact those who she’s used Abaddon on and, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>lived </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell the tale were usually fucked senseless by the tendrils. And they dared compare it to death! It can very easily kill someone but it’s just as good at giving pleasure, dammit!!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tentacles burst forth. With anyone else, it would tear them apart, but Raphael wouldn’t be the nuisance that she is if she didn’t have the tenacious habit of being able to cut down Abaddon’s tendrils with such efficiency that she could still easily reach Asmodeus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tch,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Asmodeus grunted when she had to avoid another stab from Raphael’s spear. She flexed her hand, claw-like nails suddenly growing from her fingertips and she slashed at the goddess-angel-whatever, who promptly avoided the attack.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You refuse to stay dead. It is most unfortunate. Disgusting miscreants such as yourself should remain buried in their graves,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Raphael taunted, and Asmodeus’ brow twitched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She has been keeping count, and they’re fairly even when it comes to victories and losses. Raphael annoyingly disappears in a blindingly bright light when she reaches her limit, while Asmodeus, along with several of Abaddon’s tentacles, has the odious pleasure of getting hacked to fucking shreds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“As long as people enjoy sex, you will never rid of me. I don’t even need to fuck them to absorb their essence and regenerate my wounds you fucking pissy little shithead.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, the many perks of being immortal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus was intentionally overly crude with her diatribe and tone, because if she might not win the battle she may as well do what she could to anger Raphael. Being the holier-than-thou puritan she was, the goddess wasn’t very enthused when she heard such vulgar words. Asmodeus could at least relish in the moments when her expression contorted in disgust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If they were on solid ground, their battle would have been a choreographed dance of destruction. Mountains would have been levelled, craters formed, and entire oceans disrupted. Here, in this endless expanse, they were duelled in embroidered splendour, their endless flashes of light that come from their clashes now probably looking like a full on meteor shower rather than a single falling star. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael sneered at her and threw an underhanded cut that she parried reflexively. With the next cut of the spear, Asmodeus threw her claws up, and parried high, with her point towards Raphael’s face. She felt the momentary pleasure of success when the goddess leapt backwards, eyes widening in brief surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus took the offensive, and Raphael parried her strikes, and responded with another cut against her. Asmodeus dodged to the side, throwing a crooked strike at the goddess’ hands in hopes of severing a finger or two, but she didn’t reach her. Abaddon’s tentacles continued forth undeterred, but was consistently cut down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael cleaved her spear through Abaddon’s tendrils, stepped aside and thrusted. Asmodeus parried and tried to counter-thrust, only for the two of them to meet face to face, arms and spear held high. Smirking, the demon of lust craned her neck forward as far as she could and stuck her tongue out to lick Raphael’s cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whenever she was given the chance, Asmodeus </span>
  <em>
    <span>attempts </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tease Raphael. She would want nothing more than to break her walls and to give this puritan a good fuck. Maybe then she’d get that stick out of her ass and stop being such a nuisance. She knew her chances of success were next to zero, but she tried anyway. Again, it was also just another reason to piss the goddess off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael’s icy blue eyes narrowed in revulsion, and Asmodeus took it as a small victory. Loathe as she to admit it, Raphael is a gorgeous woman. Her obsidian black skin matched the darkness of the endless sky, her braided snow white hair matching the glow of the moon. On her cheeks were small shining dots, freckles that shone as if she held stars in her skin. She was endowed with refined elegance, so of course many humans were naturally drawn to her. No ordinary person could dare approach her without feeling some sort of reverence for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It pissed Asmodeus off. The least Raphael could do was be ugly so she could deal with her growing frustrations better. Ugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Whore,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Raphael merely stated after the lick. Which, well, she wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Asmodeus much preferred calling other people that term.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She summoned Abaddon to come forth again. The tentacles uncoiled like whips, and spread open in the shape of a spider’s web, barreling forth with the speed of a lightning strike. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were so numerous that for a moment Asmodeus sees nothing but Abaddon’s tendrils, hoping to overwhelm her opponent through sheer numbers. All the tentacles pounced at every direction; left, right, front, back and even above her; in order to completely smother Raphael.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A long, silvery blue light tinged with gold flashed out— cutting directly through Abaddon with ease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Guh</span>
    <span>—</span>
    <span>?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael had thrown her spear with such force and speed that Asmodeus didn't even have a second to react, and its sharp blades pierced through her abdomen. She was flung back along with the spear, only stopping when her back was met with an immovable object— the moon. Once, this piece of rock was smooth and unembellished, but now with their constant quarrels, its surface was filled with craters and jagged scars.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The goddess doesn’t take long to descend upon her in her stupid shining glory. This spear was bound with the same magical properties Raphael’s paladins use to bind incubi and succubi, though despite that Asmodeus could break free from this fucking oversized fork currently buried in her stomach if she wanted to use considerable amount of energy. But she didn’t, not wanting to give her position away, so she acted like she was sapped of all her strength.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because she knew at times like these Raphael had a habit of lecturing her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus swallowed blood that began to crawl up her throat, feeling an annoying sting where the holy spear was embedded in her. She meandered on the track record for a second. 741 wins for her… which would mean Raphael’s tally must now be at 742. Utterly unacceptable for this nuisance to have taken the lead! She wouldn't stand for such an insult!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You really must be a sadist,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Asmodeus said casually as Raphael strolled toward her, her hair and robes flowing in the lack of gravity, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Unfortunately, I am no masochist, though I am sure your paladins would be more than happy to satiate your needs. There are quite a few of them that enjoy being skewered. I should know, I speak from experience.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The goddess frowned sharply. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Pleasures of the flesh sew distemper, discord, bitterness and corruption. Every monarch’s downfall in this world can be traced back to them losing their sense from indulging in too much intercourse. Such addictions make them no better than animals.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus rolled her eyes. This part was always her least favourite.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“For someone who’s immortal you seem really inexperienced about life in general. You think sex is the root cause of all the bad in the world? You do your precious humans a disservice by assuming they’re that fucking stupid.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She scoffed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t get me wrong, they are dumb as hell, but to think they need to protected by their base desires like that is really quite insulting.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They are in need of guidance like a flock of sheep in need of a shepherd.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus scoffed again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“There you go insulting them again. You really need to temper that shitty inflated sense of self-importance, you know.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She condescendingly waggled an admonishing finger, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What right do you have to think you know what’s best for them?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What right do you have to introduce them to such things that lead to discord and anarchy?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She threw her head back in mocking laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Introduce them? Hah! Even if I were never born, they’d still be happily fucking each other! Everyone likes sex, Raphael. You can’t stop them from simply enjoying themselves. It’s far more cruel of you to try to put them in a cage where they feel ashamed for having natural feelings of lust.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael’s brow twitched. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I am the servant of the meek, the master of the strong and the enemy of the evil. For you to sully a moment that should be used for procreation, a beautiful moment for all involved, and to degrade it into something so unsightly… Despicable. You and your ilk only bring misery to others after momentary bliss. You trick them to be slaves to uncouth desires and to lose their sense of reasoning! You transform them into your ilk! Like—like a couple of lowlives! I will never allow it!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Big words for a goddess who has worshippers who don’t even remember her name properly.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her brow twitched again, along with her eye. Raphael’s hands clenched and unclenched, before she sharply turned on her heel to sharply look away. Now all Asmodeus saw are her wings, but then those seemed rather tensed up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus opened her mouth, then closed it, lips curling into a crooked smirk as she considered something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Don’t tell me you’re actually bothered that they call you Rosilia instead of Raphael… Are you pissed that everyone else has a different interpretation of you, little miss Saint and moon goddess? Not happy that you’re not technically known universally?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael doesn’t respond immediately, and Asmodeus cocked her head to the side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I guess you’re not very good at this shepherding thing if there’s so many different viewpoints of your so-called teachings. You gotta be more consistent.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael turned, lips pursed with a glowing countenance and many marks of indignation. There was none of that regal authority Asmodeus is used to seeing, and she had to actively fight her smirk from becoming wider.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It is more work than I anticipated,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Raphael murmured, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But it is a worthy cause for these humans to reach a higher purpose.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A higher purpose? By not fucking? What does that even entail? Geez, come on. Maybe the reason your teachings fail to stick and people keep laying with one another is because they enjoy it. Why do you insist on being such a killjoy, anyway? What if you trying to deny their nature just makes them want to sleep with one another more? Denial makes the sex feel all the more sweeter.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She watched Raphael’s jaw clench. Interesting. She was more akin to an impudent child not getting what she wanted… Not getting what she wanted… Wait a minute…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus’ eyes glowed with mirth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is all this… because you’re jealous?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She let out a scandalized gasp, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re a pissed off virgin who hasn’t experienced the joys of sex, but you’re envious of the humans that just enjoy themselves so you have to make up this bullshit about procreation and distemper and whatever else? Is this a ‘if I can’t have it no one can,’ type deal?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A searing pain shot through her body when Raphael came forward and grabbed the handle of her spear, driving the weapon further in her. Asmodeus ignored it, continuing to look at the goddess with a derisive sneer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Silence, whore.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And then Raphael stomped her foot impulsively, which Asmodeus found to be fucking hilarious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Come on, Raphael. Why don’t you lose yourself to earthly pleasures and experience what it truly feels like to be alive? Maybe then you’ll learn to relax more.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She leaned forward despite the pain, bringing her hand to Raphael’s cheek to stroke it. There was a flash in the goddess’ eyes. Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oooh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She really did hit the nail on the head, hah!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. Asmodeus has no intention to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>submit to anyone. That wasn’t her style and never will be. But if she could just wrap Raphael around her finger…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can teach you many things. You just need to learn to let loose and enjoy yourself— Gah! Ow! What the fuck?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spear was roughly taken out of her, but Asmodeus found she couldn’t move her limbs. A sigil had formed underneath her! The magic bound her, sending an unpleasant burning sensation to flow through her body. Fuck! She was so focused on catching Raphael off guard that she hadn’t considered the blasted goddess was doing the same thing!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael’s expression had become impassive, back to its original regality and elegance; something Asmodeus now knew was nothing more than a facade to hide the goddess' true nature: She was a jealous, immature brat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there was still evidence of that— as she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips together in a thin line, once again reminding Asmodeus of a child who was not given something she wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael swung her spear, but not towards her. Instead the strike tore through the fabric of this reality itself— essentially opening a gate to another existence. It was a shining purple and gold hole the same size as them, and from what she could see, it led to the sky from a different world. Asmodeus has done something like herself, traveling from world to world to find new civilizations and unique forms of pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This world is not worth it.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Raphael said curtly, stomping off indignantly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I shall leave it to go somewhere that would actually appreciate what my teachings have to say. Hmph.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus would laugh at the sheer infancy of her actions, before realizing she’s still bound by extremely powerful magic. She huffed, thrashing in an attempt to free herself but ultimately failing. Raphael tried to look impassive, but she staggered and needed to use her spear to keep upright. She was clearly exerting a great amount of energy to keep Asmodeus there, and would likely need substantial time to rest in this new world she’s hopping off to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael’s lips twitched upwards, and Asmodeus found herself fuming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You should be fine being bound here for some time. Maybe about five centuries? It would do you well to practice some abstinence,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Now it was Raphael who was laughing in mockery, though her eyelids were clearly heavy with tiredness, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What was it you said? ‘If I can’t have it no one can,’? Well, there you go. If I will remain chaste, then you shall as well. Have fun, miscreant.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she even had the audacity to give her a little wave with a wink—!!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get back there so I can rip your goddamn throat out you bitch!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Asmodeus roared, trying her damndest to summon Abaddon to no avail. Raphael daintily stepped through the portal, disappearing the next second as the gate closed after her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus struggled against her magical binds, jaw clenching so hard she thought she was going to shatter her own teeth. A vein popped in her forehead and after tiring herself she relented and opted to wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Surely it would just be a day or two. Raphael looked tired and she was in another world now. The magic would not last long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except it did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus was indeed sealed away on the moon’s surface for five centuries.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five centuries takes an awful lot out of someone. Exhaustion was a severe understatement of what she felt when she was finally released from her bindings and fell towards the world. Beings like her and Raphael might be able to traipse among the stars and travel to new worlds, but those they help create— The ‘blessed’ in Raphael’s case, and the incubi and succubi in her case— can not. So Asmodeus was well and truly alone up there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sexual frustration was also an egregious understatement to what she felt when she finally landed on earth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sits cross legged, enjoying a glass of wine as she and Irial sit on their respective beds. During her tale, his expression was rife with disbelief. Not that she could really blame him, he didn’t even think his moon goddess was actually real until recently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand went to his hair, a question clearly on his lips but it seems he is unable to properly vocalize anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just how she is able to keep a magical binding on me for several centuries after leaving this world, some of her essence still lingers. It’s weakening considerably, obviously, but that is how you were born with your white hair and blue eyes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raphael’s blessed would have similar abilities to Asmodeus’ incubi and succubi, namely being able to disappear into mist and powers of resurrections, but clearly now the blessed only receive nifty hair and eye colour. One day, that’ll likely fizzle out and disappear from the populace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What…” Irial starts, then pauses, blinking in more bewilderment. “What did you do after you came back to this world…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are some merits of being sealed away for so long, I guess.” She smirks, “No one remembers you. You could say I got a bit of a fresh start. So I transformed into a human and became a savvy business woman who opened up a bunch of brothels everywhere. Gave me the chance to fuck a bunch of people and absord their essence to start regaining my power.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leans forward, resting her elbows on her legs and licks her lips hungrily. She relishes in the way Irial squirms on his bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Imagine my surprise when I just finished having a drink at some nameless inn only to find Raphael’s blessed come through the door! You’re the first and still only person I’ve seen with your hair since she left. I really have to give myself a pat on the back from not pouncing on you then and there,” and she does indeed pat herself on the back. She thought she was going to get a heart attack then and there but she managed to keep it together. How impressive!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, I just had to get you. You could call it my way of getting a sort of petty revenge on Raphael... Fucking her blessed, heh. Degrading you in such a manmer… And it helps that your essence is good and tasty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He puts his head in his hands, still struggling to find any words. Completely dumbfounded, and Asmodeus allows him to take his moment of trying to figure everything out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“D-Different world…? Stuck on the moon… Moon goddess, Saint Rosilia, Raphael… Essence… No wonder you have an insatiable sex drive...” He rubs his forehead, “Oh my god, this is a lot. Is that why you never told me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snorts out a laugh. “Would you have believed me if I said I was the Lord of Demons? The embodiment of lust? That I have the ability to travel through worlds? Most people have a tendency to try to leave me after because they think me insane unless I show them myself as a demon.” She shrugs lazily, “Besides, it’s much more fun being an enigmatic little shit sometimes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus flips her hair with an arrogant smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh but you can keep calling me Master. There’s no need to change what we already have, hmm?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While she wouldn’t outwardly say she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried </span>
  </em>
  <span>about him running off in fear— she can just keep him where he is with Abaddon, but it’s also much more satisfying when someone comes crawling back to you willingly— she does still wish for him to stay. She really can’t emphasize enough how much more delicious his essence is in comparison to everyone else’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Essence is usually savoury. A magnet for her taste buds and gives a sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>zing </span>
  </em>
  <span>to flow through her body. If she had to compare it to food… Normal people’s essence are akin to dumplings… Perfectly fried with delectable meat on the inside. A quick and surprisingly filling snack, but it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>a snack. Irial, meanwhile, is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire </span>
  </em>
  <span>meal. The dumpling with the fried noodles and egg, along with a whole rack of steak for the hell of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial lifts his head to look at her, still anxious and nervous but there is something else that flickers in his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… with my… essence, that means I was actually kind of special all along…” He murmurs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, she supposes a man who’s constantly strapped for cash and needs to sell himself would indeed like to be validated that his white hair does actually mean something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s kind of cute.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gives him a knowing look. “You are worth more than you give yourself credit for. You really should charge more if you intend to keep prostituting yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather just have you stay as my… my M-Master. Bu—But it’s not like I couldn’t live without you or anything… Hmph.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He says it with such surprising conviction that she can’t help but snicker deviously, especially considering he actually tried to resist the feelings of pleasure she gave him when he did a show in the brothel. Abaddon may not secrete aphrodisiacs, it simply brings out one’s true desires. It… corrupts people so </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> nicely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial tried to be headstrong in the start, but in reality he’s just a shy, needy slut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He does remind me a little of Raphael, hah!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a good thing going on.” She stands to saunter over to him, and she watches him bite his lower lip in a needy fashion. Anticipation and lust overtaking his initial nervousness. Turns out the knowledge that you’ve been chosen by the Lord of Demons herself really does its part in making a man excited if he doesn’t just straight up run away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a hand on his shoulder, she pushes him down on the bed. She crawls on top of him when he’s lying down, finger gliding across his cheeks and lips. His eyes are anticipatory and glazed with a quickly growing lust, likely emboldened more than she expected because of the knowledge of her identity. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>likes the feeling of being someone special, huh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That pitiful expression… I want to keep seeing it,” She leans down to slowly lick the nape of his neck, feeling him shiver under her. So pliant already. She should give herself another pat on the back for breaking down his facade so easily. “So you wish to keep me in your company, hmm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-Yes— I want to keep traveling with you and doing what we’re doing. Y-You don’t have to pay me for sex anymore, a-as long as… As long as you, um, take care of me as my, nggh… Master... Actually I think I will keep demanding payment if I'm gonna keep calling you that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus smirks against his skin. There really was something about having a man so needy under her that really got her blood pumping. She knew she still had her talents despite being stuck on a space rock for five centuries, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She really is such a talented domesticator!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a small gasp that hisses out from Irial’s lips, and he suddenly tries to gently push her away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wa—Wait, when you say absorbing essence… Life force, you’re not, like, taking years off my life every time you fuck me unconscious are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A common misconception. You will be fine. One’s essence grows and regenerates much like the cells of your body.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives her a strange look. Right, this world isn’t very privy to cellular biology last she checked. No matter, he seems to accept her answer and relaxes. Adorably, Irial appears to fully expect getting a good fucking here, and while she has every intention to do good on just that, the reason she decided to wound him up was because it’ll make him sexually frustrated. And therefore more willing to do what she has planned, </span>
  <em>
    <span>heh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus pulls back, standing and taking a few steps back, smirking at the soft whine he utters at the loss of her touch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now that that’s settled, there’s a paladin and incubus waiting for us downstairs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial presses his lips together in a pout, thighs rubbing together in a likely attempt to stave off his arousal. “You didn’t come to this place to treasure hunt, did you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope. But I was genuine when I said we could use a change of pace from the hot and humid jungle,” She tilts her head, still smirking dangerously. “Just as fucking you started as a sort of revenge against Raphael, so is me visiting this place. These paladins still believe in some vague version of her and her teachings, and… well, I did say I enjoy causing a ruckus.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She strolls casually to the door, giving him a final mischievous glance when she opens it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Corrupting paladins is its own special type of pleasure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana fucking reeks of sadism.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet, she still has the gall to give Asmodeus a glare laden with suspicion when she and Irial sit down to join them. Despite the paladin’s nomadic nature, the tavern is made of softwood planks and intricate marble carvings. The structure itself seems like it can be taken down though it’d take a fair share of labour to do so. The large, curtained glassless windows keep the bite from the outside cold from reaching inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s more lively here than outside. Several long tables are occupied by off duty paladins with cups, tankards and glasses. Sex is a no-no, but apparently alcohol isn’t much of a sin here. Clearly this is their main source of entertainment. There’s a good amount of noise here so Asmodeus knows she can speak frankly, and if even someone hears something they shouldn’t, they will likely assume the alcohol is making them mishear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she smiles at Svetlana.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You reek.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran, sitting next to his ‘wifey,’ hugs the paladin’s arm with a wide grin. “Mhm! It’s how I found her!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial lifts a questioning brow, and Asmodeus makes a passing remark about smelling the sadism off someone. Something to do with pheromones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...So it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>true…” Svetlana murmurs, then she promptly returns to glaring as Asmodeus. “I’ve asked this already and I’ll ask again, are you here for trouble?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it really such a crime that I visit your humble encampment?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” The paladin hisses, lowering her voice to a whisper, “You’re— you know! What are you planning? Why else would you come here?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I find it very interesting that a woman who married an incubus would be so bothered about my appearance. That’s a tad bit hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In fairness, I feel like that you’re on another level of trouble,” Irial comments idly, taking a swig of his beer. Asmodeus frowns in feigned offense. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are on my side or on her side?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s true, you are more trouble. You could do more than I ever could,” Talran chimes in, giggling as though he’s already drunk. He was always a bit of a weirdly jovial sort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even my own kind has turned against me,” Asmodeus sarcastically replies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some people come through the entrance of the tavern carrying a newly killed elk, with some smaller animals, indicating some recent hunting trip was a success. The other patrons cheer at the sight of their future meal, and Svetlana takes the new level of noise as an opportunity to speak to Asmodeus again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like what I have with Talran. It works. And most of all, I like just having an easy going life as a paladin. This job is fucking easy. But if </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>come along and cause some shit, that’ll just be a pain in the ass. I’ll need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>work </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it might put Talran’s identity at risk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The incubus in question practically squeals in delight and hugs Svetlana tighter. “Awwww, you’re just worried about me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus snorts, “So it is simply out of your own selfish desires that you do not want my presence. Because you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>lazy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And she hasn’t even mentioned anything to do with Raphael’s teaching. She had expected that Svetlana wasn’t the devout type, but this really makes her more gleeful than it really should, “You know, I can respect your candour. Allow me to be frank as well then. I came here mostly with the intention to turn a paladin or two into succubi because I have a bone to pick with your Saint.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both Irial and Svetlana react similarly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can do that?” Irial asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So the scriptures were correct... You do create incubi and succubi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Naturally. I wouldn’t be much of a Lord of Demons if I wasn’t the root cause of their existence.” Asmodeus glances at Irial, smiling at the curious glint in his eyes. She leans forward, putting her face directly in front of his and feeling the heat that immediately comes from his cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When a man cums inside me he turns into an incubus,” she says a matter-of-factly and both Irial and Svetlana sputter out noises that tell they’d be spitting out their drinks if they currently imbibing in anything, “And for women,” she makes a V shape with her fingers in front of her mouth, “I generally like to lick their pussies until they’re begging me to stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From what she’s gathered, for someone to receive Raphael’s blessing, a pregnant woman must come across one of the fallen feathers from her wings, or something to that effect. Psh. Her way is </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>more fun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leaves Irial to digest that newfound knowledge— his mouth gapes like a fish. She briefly entertains the idea of summoning Abaddon just to stick a surprise tentacle down his throat for the hell of it— and she turns to look back at Svetlana.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The paladin gives her husband a side-glance. “Does that mean you’ve…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran nods, and now Svetlana is back to glaring at her, though not with suspicion. Just extreme disgust with smatterings of jealousy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus rolls her eyes. “Goodness, you humans are such envious creatures. At least the elves and orcs are more accepting of the idea that their spouses have had past partners. And to call Talran a past partner of mine is a stretch, anyway. I’ve fucked many men with the sole purpose of turning them and after I’ve done that I generally leave them to their own devices.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belatedly she remembers orcs are not part of this particular world but she ignores it, and continues.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just for you, I’ll forget about my initial idea of turning a paladin into a succubus. </span>
  <em>
    <span>However,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She rests her elbows on the table, not breaking eye contact with Svetlana as her expression becomes devious. “I would still like to have some </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun </span>
  </em>
  <span>so the journey here doesn’t turn out to be a waste. If I were a betting woman, I’d say everyone at this table enjoys the company of both sexes, so… Why don’t we enjoy… Each other?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana’s face blanches for a moment, Talran makes a noise of excitement, and Irial gasps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus casually parts an arm around Irial’s shoulders, fingers slipping under his shirt collar and teasingly caressing his skin. The action is subtle enough to not garner any unwelcome attention from the other paladins in the tavern, and she whispers to him with a lilt in her voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you’ve been with a man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I… I, uh—” He stammers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I assure you my incubi are very good at what they do. You’ll be in fine hands,” she looks back at Svetlana, who’s mainly flicking her gaze from between Talran and Irial, lips pressed together as she apparently mulls over some internal conflict.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she sees her jaw clench, a hint of redness on her cheeks. There are sparks of a certain craving flickering in her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Asmodeus then realizes the paladin is primarily interested in indulging in a different sort of play.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She merely wants to see two men fuck each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she takes advantage of that tidbit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will not touch you if you do not wish for it, paladin. You can enjoy yourself with the men. I will likely be focusing on using Irial’s pretty little tongue, anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hitch in Irial’s breath tells her he quite likes that idea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana’s resistance seems to slowly crumble, perhaps being in the company of other paladins in a crowded tavern is making her less open to the idea of brazenly voicing her desires. Hmph, but Asmodeus is far too excited to let her idea slip through her fingers. It’s not as though she </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>to have this mini orgy for essence or anything of the sort but… She has become a bit too accustomed to getting what she wants lately, and she won’t settle for anything else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It will just be for the night and then we shall be on our merry way. No inconveniences for you or your job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana glances at Talran, who is silently begging with his eyes like an obedient dog. It takes a few moments, but she seems to finally relent with a heated sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...There is an abandoned cabin near the edges of the woods. We won’t be found there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! We know that because that’s our current go to spot to do the really dirty stuff and no one’s ever interrupted us! I'm gonna miss it when we have to move again." Talran happily chimes in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana’s brow twitches. “Shout it out for the entire tavern to hear, why don’t you?” She hisses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The incubus bashfully lowers his head and flutters his eyes, and it’s clear that he said that entirely with the intention to get some sort of punishment. Asmodeus glances one final time at Irial, and the tent in his that he’s currently trying to desperately hide is all she needs to know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stands, a fire burning inside her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, shall we head off?”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The broken windows, damaged siding, and missing half-step leading to the porch all say that this cabin has definitely seen better days. Who knows what happened to its previous residents, and frankly, who cares? It’s at least sturdy enough to handle some debauchery happening on its floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...Whether or not it’ll still stand if she summons Abaddon… Well, she’ll see about that later. She doesn’t care to mull over potential destruction of property.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because the moment the four of them are comfortable in the cabin, she attacks Irial by pressing her body behind his back and slipping a hand under his shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time to get this party started.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial reacts with a grunt, and Asmodeus uses her other hand to grasp his chin and forces him to turn his head so she can kiss him. He opens his mouth to let her in immediately. His walls, if he ever had any left, crumble, and just with a few delicate touches he will do her bidding eagerly and happily. Irial lolls helplessly with his eyes clenched shut, in a trance from her tongue swirling in his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Ah… mhwa… hm…” He whines into her mouth, and when they part he rests his head on her shoulder as he knees buckle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus’ hand rides up his shirt above his chest, and she gropes at his pectorals. Her eyes glick towards Talran and Svetlana, smiling wolfishly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look at that, Irial. A paladin and an incubus are watching you get groped and they like what they see. You’re the main event. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>special.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You like being special, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran’s already drooling at the sight. Clearly, he’s the loyal type of incubus and has only been with Svetlana since being with her. How sweet. The majority of paladins are women, and from what she saw for this encampment there aren’t many men here, likely to keep up with that all abstinence shtick of theirs despite the fact Asmodeus is certain the paladins will just fuck each other if they’re frustrated enough. So the lack of men seems to make the prospect of a foursome all the more exciting for these two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nips at Irial’s earlobe. “You should thank them for looking at you so hungrily.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he opens his eyes to look at them, she feels his entire body shiver against her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Th… Th-Thank you…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand on his heck goes to palm his cock, and she returns her gaze to Svetlana.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on now. You’re a sadist, aren’t you? Aren’t you supposed to take more initiative than just standing there and staring?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana throws her a glare, though it’s half-hearted. She’s much more interested in glancing between the two men. She clearly fights a smile forming on her lips, and probably due to being free from the confines of the tavern, Svetlana shows her true colours. The paladin licks her lips, a hunger gleaming from behind her eyes she no longer bothers to try to hide.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A lustful, sadistic paladin that wants to try something new with her precious incubus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While Asmodeus can probably get Irial to do whatever she wants, Talran is entirely obedient to Svetlana. The incubus clenches and unclenches his fists in an attempt to release his pent up energy, but otherwise waits for Svetlana’s permission.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana moves closer to him, and she whispers in Talran’s ear feverishly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Suck his cock.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus responds accordingly. She pushes against the back of Irial’s legs with her knees and forces him to lay down on his back, then she cradles his head with her arms, keeping her face close to his as they both watch Talran quickly take off his clothes. Irial’s cheeks are red, and his breathing stutters from excitement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Freed from his clothing, Talran falls to his knees with a thump and fishes Irial’s cock from his pants. Svetlana kneels to watch closely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Ah… Oh my god, it’s happening,” Irial mutters quickly, eyes raking over Talran’s nude form. Asmodeus takes in every small reaction from the men’s twitching bodies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran massages Irial’s half hard cock with light flicks of his wrist. Being an incubus, his technique is refined and perfect to stimulate a man to hardness. He’s steady, like he’s playing not just his cock, but his entire body like an instrument. Asmodeus slides her nails over Irial’s stomach and chest, at times pinching his nipples. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She breathes against his ear as she whispers seductively, “I’ll ask again. When was the last time you’ve been with a man? When was the last time you got sucked off by another man? Or did you always do the sucking because you were the one selling yourself?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah… gah…” Irial chokes out, “I— I don’t know…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aw, he can’t even think straight already. How cute.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Abaddon feels good around his cock, no doubt. Probably better than anyone’s mouth. However… It's really the thought that counts in this moment. To have someone’s lips wrapped around your member and tasting you… It gives a unique sense of pleasure tentacles probably could never achieve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So when Talran brings his thick lips to Irial’s hard, curved cock Irial’s eyes roll back. Talran opens his mouth, swallowing down the tip of the dick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“H-Holy… Holy shit…” Irial mutters through clenched teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus smirks, flicking her gaze towards Svetlana once more, who’s watching the cocksucking action as though it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever witnessed. “Such blasphemy you so willingly engage in. Do you think your compatriots would burn you at the stake if they found out your secret?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana mostly ignores her, and Asmodeus heaves a long contented sigh at how everyone’s scents begin to mingle and intertwine with one another. The air is thick with the aroma of lust, and she knows Svetlana will do more than just stare, so she’s happy with the knowledge that this won’t become boring any time soon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She presses her cheek against Irial’s, hand back at his chin when she lazily sticks a finger down his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mrrph!” Talran happily gurgles on Irial’s cock. He’s already moving his head back and forth at full speed right from the start. His movements are rough and intense but his rhythm is perfect. He goes shallow, deep, then stops to diligently use his tongue around the shaft before returning to full speed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His lips aren’t for show. An incubus’ body is perfectly molded for giving and getting pleasure. His mouth clings to the cock, squeezing tightly as he moves up and down. Irial bucks his hips as he begins to fuck the demon’s face softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana whispers hoarsely in Talran’s ear again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finger him,” she says before swallowing thickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fear flashes in Irial’s eyes, but with a flick of her hand Asmodeus summons a single tentacle through a hole in the floorboards. Talran instinctively brings his hand out to be fully engulfed by the tendril. Wet, sticky noises reverberate in the cabin as the tentacle swallows his arm up until his elbow. When it releases him and slinks back into nothingness under the floorboards, it does so with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ending result is Talran’s arm being slathered with thick, wet secretions. Better than any possible lube.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That appears to put Irial’s fear at ease as he relaxes, and Svetlana bites her lip as she continues watching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Watching is all well and good, but Asmodeus </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>remark that she would use Irial’s tongue. So, she shimmies out of her pants, shifting her body so that she’s no longer cradling him and that her crotch hovers over Irial’s head, relishing in his small noise of surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what to do.” She lowers her cunt, and he wastes no time in licking her. The movement of his tongue is not as, shall we say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>refined </span>
  </em>
  <span>as Talran’s, but he does well enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Squelch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus snorts at how loudly Irial’s ass sucks in Talran’s fingers. Such a lewd sound that perfectly encapsulates the four of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran starts to suck on him with much more intensity than before. He’s loud about it too, which is certainly Asmodeus’ personal preference. Such obscenity makes her spine tingle, and when Irial’s hips jolt more forcefully than before she knows Talran’s using his teeth to lightly nip on his shaft through his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A familiar sensation swells up in her groin in Irial sucks on her clit, and Talran leans forward to reach the base of his cock, his nose pressing against his pubic hair. The demon then hollows out his cheeks and Irial moans loudly while having a mouthful of pussy juice. Asmodeus can see Talran push his fingers as they would go in Irial’s quivering asshole to stretch him out, all the while he deepthroats his cock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lewd sounds of it all bounce off the cabin walls, and everyone starts to sweat as well now, the scent of lust becoming entrenched with a cloying, musky smell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus grinds her wet pussy against Irial’s face when his tongue enters her. Talran noisily slurps up his own drool when he returns to bobbing his head up and down, fingers moving in and out of Irial’s asshole in tandem with his cocksucking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mrrph… mhm!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With another guttural moan, he tightens his lips around his cock to take deep in his mouth again. Irial breathes heavily, back arching, and he slides his arms across the floor clearly unsure what to do with himself. No doubt his cock can feel the soft, sticky insides of Talran’s cheeks. He can feel the way the demon’s tongue squirms around the head of his dick, as though it is begging for his cum.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mwore… I wannah… thwaste mwoooore…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With Talran’s garbling, he pulls his head back until the majority of the cock is out of his mouth, until the very last second just before his dick falls from his lips completely… His head suddenly slams forward, bringing the cock so deep in his mouth that it probably hits the back of his throat with considerable force. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Judging by the movements of his arm, as well as the noise, he likely brought three or four fingers together, and inserted it into Irial’s wet, quivering hole at the same time he swallowed his cock whole. Such a smart incubus, overwhelming his target with an onslaught of stimulation. Irial’s back arches even further, hands shaking violently and Asmodeus clenches her cunt around his tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s been caught off guard, and if she wasn’t busy smothering him, she knows he would be gasping loudly right about now. She begins to grope herself roughly, noting that Svetlana does the same but to Talran. The paladin grabs a fistful of his ass, and by the looks of it, her other hand is slithering down under his body to jerk off his cock as she whispers something in her husband’s ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus grits her teeth, grinding harder, and Talran sucks with all his might. Desire bubbles hotly in her groin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s hips bounce like a spring as he releases his load, moaning loudly against her crotch. Talran continues to suck him off, prolonging the intensity of his ejaculation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mphm! I’ll dwink it awll!” The incubus says cheerfully with his mouth still stuffed with cock. Aside from the tiny bit of cum spilling from his lips clamped around Irial’s dick, he does a good job at swallowing every drop eagerly. He doesn’t consume any of his essence, as it’s clear the incubus wants to continue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus’ thigh clenches around Irial’s head as she finishes on his mouth. Meanwhile, Talran continues moving his arm back and forth to finger Irial roughly while drinking up a healthy dose of cum. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana, breathing ragged, then decides to actually do something else. She stands and saunters off to a chest in the corner of the room, a storage place for several instruments, no doubt. It doesn’t take long for her to fish out a cat-o-nine-tails. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she doesn’t waste any time bringing it down onto Talran’s body. She hisses something about ‘dirty sinners’ and his eyes flash with frenzied desire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sadistic excitement boils up inside her as Svetlana wantonly torments her incubus. She puts strength into her hits, bringing down the multi-tail flail to punish the skin on his back, which quickly reddens under her ministrations. She only stops for a moment to appreciate her work, before beating him more violently, coercing him to make lewd, debauched noises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran, being the </span>
  <em>
    <span>expert </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he is, does not stop his deepthroating, making a retching sound when the cock hits the back of his throat. He swallows more aggressively, and gulps audibly to constrict his throat to provide an extra layer of stimulation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmhmmph…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whether or not he’s actually trying to say something with a dick in his mouth and his back being mercilessly whipped, Asmodeus doesn’t know. As bites her lip, grinding against Irial’s face with more force than before despite already cumming. As far as she is concerned, doing so is simply the natural way to react upon witnessing a man be beaten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus’ body pulsates. Irial’s body convulses more violently. Svetlana’s mouth goes lax as she pants, swinging her whip as an angle to hit Talran’s buttocks, whose eyes are watering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmph! Mrrph…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both the contractions of Talran’s throat and stimulation of his voice must create a tapestry of different kinds of pleasure. No doubt his voice tickles Irial’s cock as Talran’s lips continue to cling to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus can feel a sensation bubbling up within her, watching a man suck another’s cock while being whipped? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s hot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The delight evident on Talran’s face, he increases the intensity of his sucking, and from where she sits, Asmodeus can see him continuing to pump his fingers in Irial though his movements are slower now. As he does so, the incubus lets out a low purr.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ngh—mhph…!” That comes from Irial, who’s now gripping and tapping as Asmodeus’ hips, begging for air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran’s lips tighten around the base of his cock one final time, which is deep inside the demon’s mouth. He begins to cough from Irial’s cum, and yet he continues to dutifully suck and swallow just as he always has been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he swallows it loudly. Again and again and again. Talran’s eyes narrow contentedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finally lets go of the cock with a sound of delight. He smiles blissfully, a thick string of cum connecting Irial’s cock to his lips. His expression only becomes more blissful when he’s hit again with the whip, body twitching but at the same time welcoming the stinging pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really like your penis, Irial!” He exclaims happily, “A-Ahn!” Talran takes his length again after another hit, this time with the intent to clean it from the remaining cum.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus then lifts her hips to allow Irial some air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“G-Gah! Haah…! Haah… haah…” He pants deliriously, and his eyes are drowsy. His face is the reddest Asmodeus has ever seen him, and he doesn’t look entirely all there. She smirks at the exhausted sight of him. His face is drenched in her fluids.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The intensity makes it all the more pleasurable, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t respond, not like she expected him to. Irial coughs again, still panting, and Asmodeus sits down behind his head. When Svetlana pauses her whipping, Talran takes the opportunity to crawl up Irial, and he strongly presses his lips against Irial’s and inserts his tongue inside his mouth. Saliva, semen and fluids from Asmodeus’ pussy intermingle with one another as Talran wriggles and swirls his tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmph…!” Irial lets out a noise of surprise from the sudden and intense kiss and he stares with enraptured and haggard eyes when Talran parts from his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were really tasty. A sign of a healthy diet!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana snorts, Asmodeus chuckles, and Irial blinks heavily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he realizes his cock is hard again and gasps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Receiving a kiss from an incubus, or succubus, temporarily relieves a male from his refractory period. Asmodeus is naturally capable of doing that too, but, well… She’s much better at fucking him unconscious instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana roughens her voice. “Alright. Fuck him now and I’ll keep whipping you, heretic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a tone of voice clearly meant to threaten the demon, she leans forward to backhand him, something Talran takes with a happy, slutty squeal of delight. He naturally obeys submissively, moving back so that he’s kneeling in front of Irial with a straightened back and holding onto Irial’s thighs to spread his legs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a face like he was drunk on being cruelly tormented, Talran lines up his cock to Irial’s entrance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be going in now—Ngh! Mhgn!” He declares in his typical jovial voice, his words being cut off when Svetlana resumes her whipping. The wide smile does not fall from his lips, instead it only widens in euphoric bliss. The whistle in the air before the cat-o-nine-tails makes contact to his skin makes Irial’s body jolt, as well, but he stays laying on his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus hums, hand slowly moving up and down Irial’s sweaty pectorals as she remains sitting behind him. Talran moving his hips, and accompanying wet noise tells her that he’s inserted his cock in Irial’s ass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial hisses, the muscles in his abdomen tightening. Asmodeus speaks casually to Svetlana as she circles his nipples with her fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Heretic,’ you say. And I remember you saying something about a dirty sinner. You enjoy roleplaying as a paladin more than actually being one, hmm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana’s expression flickers with indignation, and she hits Talran’s shoulders particularly hard. The way the paladin’s eyes go over Asmodeus’ body makes her scoff.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Try and use that whip on me and I will show you the true meaning of hell.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Svetlana’s words come out as a growl. “And I have no intention of succumbing to your tentacles should you decide to use them,” she sheers, “Let’s just agree that we’re incompatible and ignore one another.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I can accept those terms,” Asmodeus flicks Irial’s nipples, “But feel free to attack him as well. I’ve seen how you look at him. I assure you that he enjoys getting hurt as well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Narrowing her eyes, Svetlana gives Irial a skeptical look, who responds with an incoherent series of noises seeing how he’s sensitive from getting fucked by an incubus. Regardless, Svetlana experimentally swings down her whip on his stomach, and his lips part in a shrill screech.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Ah…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though his lips are upturned in a smile, and his cock leaks with pre-cum. He is completely lost in the masochistic pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Voices of joy leaks out from both men’s lips as Talran’s moves his hips back and forth. Irial again doesn’t seem to know what to do with his arms, but after some fumbling, his shaking hand touches Asmodeus’. She lifts a questioning brow at him, and he merely looks at her pleadingly, mouth panting and small tears shining from the corner of his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a cocky smirk, she obliges him and holds his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Haah… Haah… Mhmm…” Irial pants softly, now focused on the incubus and his gyrating hips. Talran’s own hands are now jerking off Irial’s cock too, making the man whine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re— mhm! Clenching on my cock l-like— ngh! Ah! Like when you clench on my— Ahn! My fingers!” Each squeal from Talran is punctuated with Svetlana’s whip hitting him. She mostly attacks his back, now red with welts, but she sometimes gives Irial some attention with her pain inflicting instrument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s body writhes, and the sound of Talran’s hips hitting him is interspersed in between the noises of the whip hitting them both. Feeling a bit cheeky, Asmodeus summons one of Abaddon’s tendrils from the floorboards, making it slither around silently behind Talran before poking between his reddened asscheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran’s eyes widen in surprise, licking the excess drool that had gathered around his lips as he looks behind himself with fawning eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Ah…! Abaddon, it’s been so long! Eheh, I've miss yooooou— nhm!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tentacle jabs into his welcoming ass. Irial tightly, strongly grips her hand as the action makes Talran thrust particularly hard into him. The impact of both their depths being struck makes their eyes glaze over, with Talran’s tongue hanging slovenly out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tentacle has thrusts forward, fully embedding itself, as if to stretch out Talran’s hole to its limits. The appendage thoroughly and carefully grazes the tight fold of muscle. Asmodeus feels the pleasure of fucking him, and accompanied by the sight of Irial getting wrecked, made a familiar tingle of pleasure shoot across her cunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She makes the tentacle’s movements relaxed, but it still makes a dull, heavy impact as it buries itself further. Pleasure then envelopes Asmodeus’ entire body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Evidently jealous at Talran’s attention being momentarily taken away from her, Svetlana hits Irial’s abdomen with a resounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwack, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Asmodeus can see his toes curl as his body twists and writhes, both trying to get away from the whip but also welcome it. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His tears are free flowing down his cheeks now, and his brown skin is covered with criss-crossing red lines from where the cat-o-nine-tails landed on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But his cock is close to cumming again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah… A-Ah… Amh… Amod—d-deuuuss….”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feebly, he tries to reach her face with his free hand, and she coyly tilts her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh? I thought you were going to continue calling me Master?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t respond, voice turning into a series of incoherent whimpers as his arm falls limply back to the ground and he stares at her with glassy eyes, though there is a hint of a smile on his lips. Bliss and delirium, mixed into one feel that eventually boils over into a second orgasm for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>String of white cum bursts out of his swollen cock, and Irial convulses violently. His fingernails dig into her hand for one final tightening grip, before his hold on her weakens considerably. Asmodeus indulges in the pleasure filling the air, and one final glance shows Svetlana giving Talran one final </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwack</span>
  </em>
  <span> before she throws the whip to the side. There was an odd sense of tenderness in the ferocity, and the sickly sweet affection between paladin and demon became more evident when she kneels beside him and kisses him passionately. Their tongues swirl in each other’s mouths, and in true Talran fashion, he’s awfully loud with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus makes Abaddon jab at his prostate a couple of times to help him reach his limit. Irial’s lips part in a soundless scream from the final hard thrust, and Talran finishes inside him. The demon’s ass contracts around the tentacle, and a wet, squelching noise comes from Irial’s anus, overflowing with the previous lube and newly introduced semen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuuuhiii…. Nggh… Ah! So gooood…Cummin’.... Cuuuuumin’...!” Talran moans in a high pitched voice in between smacking his lips against Svetlana. Irial only manages several strangled noises, and heat courses throughout Asmodeus’ body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both men have been fucked stupid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their bodies twitch incessantly. Playfully entwining his tongue with Svetlana’s, Talran pulls back his shaking hips to exit Irial. Asmodeus commands Abaddon to slink back where it came from.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran and Irial exhale rough breaths, like they had both received an electric shock the instant they met their climaxes. Despite the twitching and evident exhaustion, Talran continues without pause as he indulges in his wife’s tongue and slurps up her saliva.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not done,” Svetlana whispers harshly, and she grabs the back of his head. She drags a stupefied Talran and pushes him to the ground, making him lie on his back like Irial.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She impatiently rips at her clothes and armour to free herself from the confines of her clothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aaah, you know I’ll do anything to make you satisfied… Ehehe…” Talran’s voice is dripping with intoxication, and Svetlana climbs on top of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hmm. Well, Asmodeus is pretty sure they’ll be too busy groping and smooching each other to pay her or Irial anymore mind for the rest of the evening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gingerly, she cradles Irial’s head and leans down to give him a featherlight kiss on the lips. Her face is directly above his, and he blinks slowly, eyes filled with something akin to awe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not done either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gasps, expression twisting, and he returns to full on sobbing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah… Agah… Again…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” she moves so that she cradles his hips, his cock surging to newfound hardness and he gasps and stutters. He dribbles drool from his partly opened lips, and he chokes on several whimpers. Naturally, a man will become </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> sensitive if he’s forced to hardness three times in a row. “It shouldn’t take long for you to come in this state. And then you’ll get to sleep for as long as you would like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If one could bleed an ocean through the eyes, he was doing just that. That is the enormity of his lust addled, desperate sobbing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rubs her cunt against the tip of his cock and he claws at the floorboards. Talran and Svetlana may be fucking like sex-starved beasts next to them but Asmodeus only hears Irial’s stuttery, rough breathing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s let him inside her before. Hell, that’s how they first fucked, but she’s not once allowed him to cum inside. It was partly due to her having never turned one of Raphael’s blessed into one of her ilk, so she was unsure of what the outcome might be, and also partly because she wanted to be devious and enigmatic and also pester him during his travels… All part of that petty revenge plot she has going on, she muses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, she’s certain nothing detrimental would happen to her if she turns him. Raphael’s magic is gone from this world. And while absorbing one’s essence certainly helps her regenerate… Irial in particular helping make her feel stronger… Actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>turning </span>
  </em>
  <span>people remains the fastest way to regain her powers of traveling through worlds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because she will enact actual vengeance on Raphael.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus will regenerate her power to its fullest extent so she may run off to different worlds again. She’ll find her six sisters and get them to join her, and then she’ll find Raphael. She’s going to make the goddess wish she could die. Asmodeus will repay the humiliating defeat she experienced at her hands a thousand times over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, in the meantime, she has a trembling, sobbing man underneath her to focus on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s cock slips inside of her with ease, and she enjoys the sight of him shaking from oversensitivity with unrepentant glee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want to cum inside me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes had rolled back, but he blinks heavily to focus back on her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha— What… Nghmm... What will happen to me…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You get some horns and a tail that’ll be able to hide.” Asmodeus rocks her hips, delighting in his tears, “The only thing you’ll need for sustenance is essence. So you fuck people for a living. Not too different from your previous lifestyle. Except you’ll also be able to disappear into a fog of mist, too. Not a bad deal, eh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His chest heaves, and she can hear the ecstasy in his voice as she slowly slips his cock inside her. He whines, hands going to her hips and he chokes out some more words, this time his voice being tinged with some hints of anxiety.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“B-But… what about… Haah… Y-You… You won’t leave me…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus lifts a brow, contracting her vaginal muscles to make him arch his back. She begins bouncing on his cock in earnest, the indecent sound of their skin slapping against each other filling her ears. She wasn’t gentle with it either, slamming her hips against him hard as if to make him fully yield to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, have you grown attached to me? I thought you said you could live without me.” She croons, “Who said what we have here has to end? I may intend to travel to places you cannot follow, but that does not mean I will never return back to you. I’ve grown too fond of this world to leave it permanently. I’ll still be your Master.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has nowhere to go as her slit continues to swallow his cock up greedily and savagely. Her hot walls lapped up his member, and Asmodeus feels her pussy get even wetter. She claws at his bruised, well-defined muscle of his chest, raking her nails down his skin and feeling his heartbeat under her palm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What'll it be, Irial? Do you wish to join my legion? My </span>
  <em>
    <span>harem?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hot walls strokes every last over sensitive spot on his dick to its fast approaching limit. Irial’s groans are guttural and hoarse as the heat and pleasure washes over him like a tidal wave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial’s breathing quickens, voice becoming more high pitched. Asmodeus leans down to cup his cheeks and stare directly into his unfocused eyes. She continues riding him like he is a toy she is using to get off. Her superior physical strength that she uses to give him electrifying pleasure clearly makes his head spin, if his pupils dilating is anything to go by.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can smell his arousal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His climax approaches, and Irial’s whimpering and whining with every moment. His hips jerk but his thrusts are weak and exhausted. His expression twists and Asmodeus’ muscles tense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ye— Haah… Y-Yes…!” Irial breathes, eyes fluttering. Asmodeus lifts her hips to slam down on him hard. His hands trembles as he attempts to croak out a series of more affirmations. “Yes! Y-Yes… Yes, yes, yes—!! I want to cum inside you! P-Please!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Such a cute little face you’re making,” something warm flutters in her chest, “You’ll make a fine incubus, Irial. You’re already such a fine slut.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face lights up with explosive elation as he climaxes. The violating movements gradually slow down as he spends his seed. It’s not as much as his previous two ejeculations, but she still feels his warmth fill her. There are more convulsions on his part, and with a chuckle, she leans down to capture his lips with hers. Small kisses that gradually become more passionate. He won’t become hard again with these kisses, she’s merely doing this partly because she knows he likes this sort of thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His arms tiredly wrap around her back, and as his climax gradually subsides, his body slowly becomes limp. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blood rushes through Asmodeus’ body. She arches her back, heaving a long, satisfied sigh as she feels his essence be absorbed in her. Essence is a special type of addiction that makes her go in a heady trance. Her toes curl and the raw intensity is like a million static shocks attacking her body all at once. If there was ever anything that could scratch </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> itch, this was it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are no thoughts, no focus, only desire and pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus watches Irial’s unconscious body with rapt interest. The transformation to becoming an incubus isn’t all that dramatic, one’s ears just become pointed and a tail pops out above their ass. The main event is seeing the horns sprout out a top their head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She has no control on the type horns one will receive. It’s always a bit of a nifty surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oooh, they’re coming out!” Talran quips, cradling an unconscious Svetlana in his arms. In the passion of it all, he transformed into his incubus form midway through of his wife fucking him. His large bovine horns are impressive and heavy looking. She knows it’s given him some troubles in the past. Like not being able to get through doorways sometimes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asmodeus lays on her side next to Irial, resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she watches the points of the horns slowly peek out from the tufts of his sweat damp hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s immediately something she knows will look quite impressive. The more it grows, the more she sees that it is a set of tightly curled, corkscrew-like horns. They are close together at the base, which sits snugly on the top of his forehead, but spread upwards toward the tips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She whistles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Markhor horns. It’ll probably take him some time to get used to the weight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran’s tail thumps on the floor in excitement. “I can teach him all about it! It’s always awkward trying to figure out how to transform back to a human and all that. I’ll be an awesome teacher!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you intend to fuck him again while you’re at it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only with everyone’s permission!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snickering, she idly pokes at Irial’s cheeks as he slumbers peacefully. Her gaze goes to Talran for a moment, seeing how he stares lovingly at her face and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...You are truly lovers? I had assumed your marriage was a ruse so you could stay together, and you were merely with one another for sex.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talran smiles widely. “It started out like that, but I really adore her!” He nuzzles her cheek, carely not to hit her face with his horns, “I used to call her Master, but now I call her wifey!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s so sickeningly sweet that she thinks she may just get a cavity. She rolls so she’s on her back, resting her hands on the back of her head as she relaxes. Sure, an abandoned cabin may not be the most optimal place to rest after a fuck, but she’s about ready to sleep for the next week or so. Irial’s essence had been so intense that it made her enervated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She caresses his face. There is something warm blooming in her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Irial will need to stay for some days to get the hang of being an incubus, she supposes. And then after she can show him her… domain, of sorts. Basically the inside of Abaddon. A fleshy, undulating room filled with tentacles, and she likes to sit on a makeshift throne as she watches a crowd of incubi and succubi get fucked senseless by the endless tendrils.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Always a fun time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, she may as well introduce Irial to his kind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And also fuck him again while she’s at it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, things will be exactly the same as they were. Just spiced up. She’s sure he’ll enjoy himself just </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Days later Asmodeus will come to realize that being part of Raphael’s blessed </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>an incubus at the same time awakens something in a person. As it turns out, there was a speck of dormant magic inside him from the goddess, a teensy tiny bit, but when that mixed with hers...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he can travel in those dimension-hopping portals with her, unlike the rest of the incubi and succubi.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she takes him with her wherever she goes.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me: Maybe I write too much cunnilingus. <br/>Also me: Actually there's not enough tongues going on people's cunts. The fact that "First time blowjobs" is a tag but "First time cunnilingus" ISN'T a tag is a testament to how not enough women are getting their pussy ate. 😤</p><p>Maybe I'll write a quick bonus chapter with more tentacles. We'll see if that happens within the next century. I wasn't expecting to write a dimension hopping archdemon, but hey, why not! And of course, Asmodeus' six sisters are the rest of the seven deadly sins: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Satan and Belphegor. And if they exist, the archangels exist too as Raphael's sisters! Will I ever write about them? Probably not lol. I'll leave that to your imagination.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. The Bet (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cassandra and Eric are back and the man's ass is not safe. Doesn't really include any bets.</p>
<p>But it does includes: Vibrator up the butt, spanking, rimming, pegging.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The orange light of the setting sun bathed the sports field, illuminating the runners whose shoes kissed the tracks as they trained. Cassandra sits alone in the bleachers, having recently finished her volleyball practice, and now she watches her boyfriend Eric train with his track and field friends— his ‘bros,’ they all affectionately call one another. Most university students are lumbering back to their dorms, but not the bro-team. They’re bro-ing it out to out-bro all the other teams for an upcoming regional competition. And she certainly can’t deny their prowess— </span>
  <em>
    <span>browess?</span>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> in running around a track, seeing how they’ve got a bit of a winning streak going on. For other university track and field teams, they’re the bros to beat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra’s lips twitch in a smirk, her hand pushing down her beige baseball cap to obscure her hungry eyes despite the fact there’s no one around her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re the bros to beat,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and I beat Eric daily.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stifles a series of snickers poorly, stuffing her hand down the pocket of her varsity jacket, her fingers grazing over a certain something that she’s been having fun with for pretty much the entire day. It really does make her feel more giddy than she has any right to be. Her thumb hovers over the button as she watches Eric with a predatory gleam in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, he’s hot, but in that sort of nerdy-cute way with his glasses and tuft of short black hair. The cords of his calf muscles flex when he runs and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>c’est magnifique! She could kiss her fingers and swoon at the mere sight of it! And that ass, firm but also soft to the touch and absolutely jiggling under those athletic shorts of his. She’s never seen the other bro’s asses— ew, why would she?— but she knows Eric totally has the best one, especially when his cheeks are marked red under her hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What’s a woman meant to do when she watches her man run? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not </span>
  </em>
  <span>oogle him? Psh, as if.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was an accident that he even became a runner in the first place. In elementary school, during the Terry Fox Run, everyone was turfed out to run a race and with it being a mostly casual affair for the young kiddos, he and his friends initially wanted to walk. Halfway up a long hill of stubby grass and soggy mud Eric just got bored and began to run. Getting back sooner seemed like a good idea. He would later recall crossing a small wooden bridge close to the school and the teacher yelling at him that he was in second place. First place was Derek, the current bro-captain of the men’s track and field team and possibly the loudest man Cassandra has ever met. Derek had been impressed, and after that Eric was on the running team after much pestering.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A story of bro camaraderie as old as time…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra watches her boyfriend accelerate in his run, but that wasn't even nearly how fast he could run. In those thighs is enough power to be clean across the field in seconds should he choose. Every footfall is soft, every movement practised so often he could be perfect even on autopilot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So, of course, she wanted to mess with him. Make that trained, fit body squirm...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her thumb presses down on the button, and Eric’s reaction is immediate. His knees buckle, and she hides a smile behind her hand from the slight stagger he does, but he manages to complete his run around the track without keeling over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s gotten better at this! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first time she stuck a bullet vibrator up his ass, and he tried to run with it, he straight up fell off the treadmill. His resilience has grown considerably over the course of their sexcapades, and Cassandra supposes it’s only natural he would he better with dealing with something up the yahoo seeing how the vibrator has been in him for pretty much the entire day, and she’s naturally been playing around with it every chance she gets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Though his brief second lapse in performance is caught by Derek. Fitting for the captain. Bro-captain, whatever. The hulking beast of a man runs over to Eric, his voice loud enough for Cassandra to hear from the bleachers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bro! Looks like you tripped there. You good? Don’t go spraining your ankle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s built like a bear, but as sweet as honey. Fiona really struck gold when she snatched him up for herself, especially when he wears </span>
  <em>
    <span>I ♥️ Fiona </span>
  </em>
  <span>shirts and bandanas whenever he watches her play volleyball. Eric makes several gestures that tell Cassandra that he’s telling the man that he’s fine, and when her boyfriend turns his head to make eye-contact with her, his cheeks flush.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Derek doesn’t miss that either, a big excited smile forming on his lips. “Don’t worry bro! You don’t have to get nervous in front of your lady! Run for Cassandra!” The two men wave at her, and she waves back, snorting in amusement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, Eric, run for me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the two men make their way to the front of the track with the rest of the team, she presses the button to amp up the vibrator for several seconds before bringing the level back down. The way Eric’s shoulders jump makes her shift in her seat, warmth coiling in her lower abdomen at the sight of him struggling so cutely. He walks bowlegged for a moment when she amped it up, before he remembers to walk to like a normal person. Ah, just imagining how strained his stuttering voice must be really sets off a fire in her loins.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily for him, however, his cock is </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovingly </span>
  </em>
  <span>tied to his thigh with a soft yet sturdy shibari rope to prevent him from tenting his pants. Got a condom on him, too, so he doesn’t stain himself either if he manages to finish before she gets to him. He and Cassandra may be unrepentant perverts, but they’ve got </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>modicum of class.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her playing around with the vibrator’s controls becomes less and less merciful as the minutes go on. When he’s sitting on the bench watching the others do their rounds, she’s got him practically writhing. The amount of effort he’s putting in to not show he’s currently got a sex toy crammed up as his ass is just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cassandra bites down on her lower lip, feeling more sadistic urges boil up inside her that she’ll need to release in due time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So distracted she is from thoughts of his ass— which, c’mon, he’s got a good ass dammit— that she doesn’t notice someone next to her. One of her gals from the volleyball team, Harley. Cassandra quickly tries to hide her lewd excitement by practically drowning herself with her water bottle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, hey Harley,” she says quickly, crossing her legs and totally not suspicious in how she keeps one of her hands steadfastly in her pockets. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sup,” her friend and teammate replies. Harley’s the shortest woman in the volleyball team with a stocky build, but what she lacks in height she makes up with her ridiculous skills at jumping higher than anyone else. Her frizzy brown hair always looks like a damn whirlwind whenever she smacks a volleyball into oblivion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here to watch your man?” Cassandra asks casually, eyes flicking over to Remi who’s getting ready for his sprint. In true Remi fashion, he yawns dramatically. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him fully awake in the one class they share together, but he somehow always manages to stay on top of his grades. Unkempt red hair almost covering his eyes, eyes that always have bags under them despite him constantly sleeping…  A lazy genius, some would say…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh. Leaving for Toronto in two days to visit family, so figured I should do some good old fashioned cheerleading while I’m still here.” Harley turns her gaze to the track to clap raucously and shout even louder, “Let’s go, Remiiiii! I looooove you!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sappy couple then proceed to be, well, extremely sappy. Cassandra huffs with a smile, glancing down at where Eric is sitting and seeing him speak with Alfonso. Well, she decides he needs a little extra excitement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s clearly interrupted mid-sentence when she does a click. She didn’t ramp up the vibrations as much as last time so he manages by the looks of it. Ah, what a saint she is. She can just imagine his toes curling in his shoes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Remi admitted something to me last night,” Harley says, “He loves running, but he hasn’t really been vibing with his courses despite his good marks. He ended up mumbling something about being a good househusband,” she leans back, hands on her cheeks as she lets out an excited </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘kyaa!’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The fact that I had to to coax those words out of him because I couldn’t hear his mumbling, and his blush…! Fuck, how can a guy be so cute?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra lifts a brow, “Am I overthinking this, or did that sound like a really roundabout way to, like, sort of propose? That does sound very Remi-like.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harley stops, mouth opening then closing. Her big brown eyes become wider and her face flushes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ahh, naaaaah, no way. We’re still in university! Too early to be talking about that stuff. Though as soon as I graduate and get a job I’m taking him for myself!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, probably why he said that you doofus. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harley gushes some more, and when she calms down she watches her boyfriend sprinting with Derek. There is something conspiratorial in her grin, and her words are equally enigmatic. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s treated me so well, I should give him something as a reward…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She leans back in her seat, hand going in her pocket, and the resounding yelp that comes from the field is reminiscent of a dog getting its tail stuck in the door. Cassandra’s shoulders jump at the noise, turning her head in the direction of the sound, only to see Remi doubled over but also waving off a concerned Derek.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His face is as red as his hair, she doesn’t miss how his legs shake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing at Harley, Cassandra makes a sound of disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You freak.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harley sticks out her tongue, “Oh please, I know you’re doing the same thing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra scoffs, though she can’t deny the amusement she’s feeling over their shared timing and interest in embarrassing their boyfriends. All part of the training! A guy’s gotta be able to run through anything for a big fancy competition! Yeah, that’s it. All for the good of the bro-team.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both smirk at each other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two women continue their sadistic torments, and she would be lying if she weren’t at the very least tempted to make it a sort of competition with Harley to see which man can last the longest, but never quite gets to that point. She’s much too focused on watching Eric squirm to try to do anything else. The tightness and awkwardness of his movements sends a shiver of pleasure down her spine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Though her growing arousal is interrupted by an equally excited Harley.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I stake my claim on the storage shed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra leans back with an exaggerated scowl, “Fuck! I wanted to obliterate Eric’s ass in there.” She crosses her arms impudently and leans back with a huff. The storage shed has a nice old mirror and she knows how much Eric gets off at watching himself get fucked. She mulls over her options…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess I’ll use the men’s locker room, then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A silent agreement passes over the two women. They’ll be destroying their men in two separate areas and won’t be seeing or hearing the other— but that doesn’t stop the air between then becoming tinged with competitiveness, as though they’re both taunting the other with a smug declaration that simple states </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can fuck my man better than you can.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for the men’s training to end for the day. Cassandra and Harley walk over to them, and are greeted with Derek slapping his hand on Eric’s and Remi’s shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ladies! I think your dudes have a fever.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure they’re right as rain for the upcoming tournament,” Cassandra says sweetly, her words undercut with her sharp eyes making Eric squirm where he stands. Remi has the same effect with Harley, and the women exchange more quips before basically dragging their boyfriends away to their designated areas.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, except Cassandra’s battlefield is the men’s locker room which is obviously where everyone else will be going to, so she gives Eric a side glance and whispers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Text me when everyone has left the locker room.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gulps, and she watches his throat bob with perhaps too much glee. “T-This has been the most exhausting practice I’ve ever had.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” She teases, “All part of the plan of making you a better runner.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric chuckles awkwardly, entering the locker room with the rest of the bro-team while Cassandra chills out on a nearby bench. Dammit, Harley’s probably already fucking Remi, his sweaty state be damned. That’s why the storage shed is the best! Covert and they just moosey on there immediately!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But no, Cassandra has to stew in her growing sexual frustration the more minutes begin to pass. Her thighs press against an… extra appendage she’s slipped on. Eric isn’t the only one that’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>strapped </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a toy for the entire day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sits there, only one thing on her mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Butt, butt, butt.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>An essential part of Eric that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs in order to keep functioning, as far as Cassandra is concerned. The stuff that dreams are made of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grows impatient with each minute that passes. Bros being bros, they take fucking forever to wash up and dress and whatever else they do. Probably talking about everyone’s days and doing bro-talk. It feels like a damn hour before she sees the first man leave the damn room and head home. Meanwhile Cassandra feels wet from rubbing herself against the bench.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she knows without a shadow of a doubt that everyone has left, she stands and heads toward the locker room. Eric is barely able to peek his head out the door when her lips crash against his. Her tongue forces his mouth open, and she pushes him back into the locker before anyone can notice them. He moans into her mouth, and she shoves him against a locker.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Was— Was just gonna mention how it’s empty,” He pants, lips twitching in a lopsided smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Cassandra replies, looking around the empty locker room and wrinkling her nose. This place reeks of overused deodorant. Whatever, she’s too hot and bothered to give it mind, and she also has no intention of waiting any longer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She points at the locker room bench, “Take off your shorts and lie on your stomach.” She says it with a barely restrained set of giggles because dammit she’s excited. It’s hard not to outright bounce on her feet like an excited child about to receive a delectable treat. Except she’s a grown woman about to receive a delectable treat— more specifically, a feast that’s in the form of her boyfriend’s booty.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric shimmies out of his shorts, and also frees his cock from the shibari rope.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra puts her hand on her mouth, resisting the urge to shed tears. She’s overwhelmed like someone might be when they witness a life changing piece of artwork in a museum. It’s like the heavens are parting and angels are singing in her ears, her cheeks warm considerably at the sight of Eric’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>lower</span>
  </em>
  <span> cheeks— the curve of when the back of his thighs meet the supple flesh of his buttocks… His toned muscle…! The round shape! The end of the vibrator peeking out from between his cheeks! The—The… The </span>
  <em>
    <span>jiggleness!!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If she has a scoreboard, she’d be busy proclaiming </span>
  <em>
    <span>10/10 Ass</span>
  </em>
  <span> and giving him a trophy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She has to remember how to breathe normally when Eric lays down, apparently oblivious to how she currently feels like a volcano that’s about to burst. She tugs on her jacket before relieving her body from it, setting the vibrator controller to the side, now only in her sports bra and shorts. Placing her legs on either side of the bench and hands hovering over his pale asscheeks, she flexes her fingers in anticipation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But first things first.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me your safeword,” she says hoarsely and goddamn she is </span>
  <em>
    <span>thirsty.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric shifts where he lays, ass shaking and she feels ready to swoon then and there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Doping.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles. Truly a safeword that would kill the mood in an instant. With that settled she then proceeds to the next stage—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s now time for Cassandra Yang’s Three Step Method of Handling Your Submissive Boyfriend™!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Step 1. Enjoy every detail.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She already feels excess saliva build up in her mouth, threatening to spill over as an excited stream of drool because she can barely contain herself. Cassandra takes an indulging moment to simply appreciate his ass, certainly the </span>
  <em>
    <span>pièce de résistance. </span>
  </em>
  <span>One thing she never seems to give enough attention to are his tan lines. He’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>tanned— like, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Canada, after all— but his cheeks are definitely paler than his legs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dammit, why are tan lines also hot? The talent of this man…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she’s finished feasting with her eyes, her hands are on him in an instant. Cassandra had recently gotten her nails done, partly for herself and partly because she wants Eric to feel the extra slight sting when she pinches him. She’s immediately rewarded with a hitch in her boyfriend’s breath that makes her feel like she’s on cloud nine already.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She gropes him like there’s no tomorrow, aggressively kneading him and shuddering from the elation of having her man so pliant underneath her. She spreads his cheeks apart, getting an eyeful of the toy inside him, before playfully raking her fingernails across his skin. She feels his ass, his legs, and slithers her hand up his shirt to teasingly caress his firm back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra leans forward, her body pressing against his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Step 2. Give him lots of praise.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You look so good,” she hungrily whispers, “So fucking good. I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have you all to myself.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She breathes against his earlobe, relishing in how his blush makes it red. His eyes are shut, lips pursed together as he attempts, and fails, to stifle a whimper. She feels his body tremble under her, and she feels a lewd sense of pride at how his hands hold onto the legs of the bench with a white knuckle grip. He’s trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard at keeping it together and that makes her cunt throb.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra licks his neck, nails now harshly scratching at his back. “So cute. You’re doing really well. That deserves a reward, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-Yeah,” he gasps out, eyes still closed, “I think I’ve been… mhm…!” He’s interrupted with a pinch to his asscheeks, “I-I’ve been good this entire day…! Dealing with your t-torment… I— nggh— deserve a reward!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, she could cum then and there just by hearing his whining. Hearing a man’s desperation leaking out in his voice— she’d call that some top tier content.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which then leads to her favourite part. Cassandra licks her lips, eyes shining with something predatory.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Step 3. Attack his weak spots.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric has several of those, most of which she’s had lots and </span>
  <em>
    <span>lots </span>
  </em>
  <span>of fun with.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His biggest one naturally being his sensitive ass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An ass, she quickly decides, that just isn’t red enough for her tastes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s something they’re both been looking forward to. Eric especially, the little masochist, and she can see his growing impatience with how his muscles flex in anticipation. He’s growing restless, and when she opens a locker to reveal a mirror next to his face, the sound of need that comes out of him gives her goosebumps.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Watch yourself in the mirror,” Not like she needs to even tell him. He’ll stare at a mirror all damn day if they’re having sex. She grabs onto one of his asscheeks, hard, nails digging into him and each word becoming more breathless than the last. “And… And I want you to count.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The air of anticipation is palpable. While Eric is staring intently at the mirror, his eyes gleam when she raises her hand above her head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She exerts all of her strength in one swing, bringing it down with such force that the sound of skin hitting skin rattles in her eardrums and a bright red mark immediately appears on his pale ass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“O-One,” he groans, as if he had just received a release he had been waiting for.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re that loud and lewd someone might hear you and feel the need to investigate,” she says, smacking him again, knowing how much the exhibitionism turns him on. Hell, it turns her on, and Cassandra feels wet slickness run down her thighs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Two…!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happens if someone from the men’s track and field team is seen like this, hmm? They’d see how good you run after all this. Maybe they’ll make this officially a part of the training,” she says with a gleeful laugh. They’ve never been super serious when it comes to dirty talk, and it mostly ends up being something in jest. She brings down her hand onto his other cheek, clapping his ass in the true sense of the word. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra deals several more hard blows to his cute, defenseless ass while breathing raggedly from her own excitement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Three! Four! Five, six, seven— e-eight, nine, ten…!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric contorts his expression, bucking his hips shamelessly to meet her hands. Every time, just before she spanks his sensitive rear she sees him clench his cheeks and it makes her spine tingle. She then smacks both his asscheeks with her hands at the same time, continuing her merciless onslaught with the same amount of strength she used when she started</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eleven, t-twelve… nghm…! Ah, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteenseventeeneightteennineteen—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra huffs out a vulgar, excited laugh at the sight of his growing delirium. A jolt of pleasure shoots through her, glancing at his equally red face. His disheveled expression and panting just spurs her on to hit him with more vigour. There’s a slight stinging in the palm of her hands, but it doesn’t slow her down in the slightest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The only reprieve she gives him is the blissful few seconds she takes to reach over to grab the vibrator controller. She turns it back on, cranking it up to a high setting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The moans that come out of Eric’s lips is incredible. Cassandra’s panties are thoroughly soaked, both by the show she’s currently enjoying and because she’s been grinding against her own toy she’s been traipsing around with— a strap-on hidden by her shorts. Well, she’s wearing a pair of Eric’s shorts, actually, which makes it more baggy when fitted on her smaller form and therefore easier to hide a big, fake cock. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stimulates her clit by grinding on the base of the strap-on, and the pleasure makes her hit Eric even harder. Despite her boyfriend’s desperate efforts to control himself, he can’t help but tremble violently as she relentlessly spanks his delicious, quivering ass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“T-Twenty…. Ngm! Gah! Twenty-one! Twenty-two! Twenty-three—” He continues counting, body trembling and voice dripping with pleasurable delirium as he is further stimulated by the vibrator inside him. His moans, interspaced with her slaps, reverberates in the empty locker room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thir—Thirty...Ah! Ah, mgnh…! Thirty… thirty… thirty-one…. Ngh!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Every time she brings down her hand, Eric lets out a series of honeyed moans. Cassandra’s cunt clenches hungrily, especially when she glances at his face again. His eyes are both desperate and seductive, despite still obediently looking at himself in the mirror. Her eyes glaze over with an insatiable lust.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re making such a lewd face,” she breathes out, hitting his ass again and reveling in his whimpering. “You horny brat. You’re so shameless. It’s so fucking hot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gathering all of her strength, she spanks with enough force she thinks her hand might as well fall off. She attacks the reddest spot of his ass, an area she knows must be his most sensitive. Her fingers twitch with a dull ache, but it’s all worth it with how Eric wiggles his swollen ass lewdly, desperately begging for more despite probably being near his limit for a beating.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“T-Thirty-five…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra pants, wiping her brow and grinning as she sets the vibrator off. “You may have been grinding your hips, but I gotta say, I’m impressed you didn’t kick your legs. Good boy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even his glasses seem a bit foggy, like the blush on his face is hot enough to make steam come off of him. His body trembles, and he looks back at her with a shaky smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve… ah, you’ve really… perfected your technique…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She chuckles, sitting directly behind him and palming his ass. She’s only just barely able to stop herself from pinching him again. His abused skin is warm to the touch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Eric’s buns: Toasted.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The same way this makes you a better runner, this makes me a better volleyball player. Gotta smack those balls real good.” She chuckles again at her silly jest, “All part of the plan. You know… Training makes me… Mhm.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice tapers off to a whisper. Cassandra spreads Eric’s cheeks, feeling his body tense, and she soon teases the vibrator that’s still snugly in him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A-Ah…” He moans as she slowly takes the toy out of him. She unceremoniously flings it to the side, then takes the moment to appreciate his quivering, wet entrance. He had been thoroughly lubed up for a good while now— always better to put in too much rather than too little. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra bites her lower lip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the word she meant to say before her sentence ended in a mumble. Maybe it was hesitance on her part that made her not outright say it. While she’s fingered him before, and he’s obviously had several toys inside of him at this point, there is something else she had always wanted to try but never got around to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But now looking at how that ring of muscles clenches and unclenches… Looking as though they’re begging for something, anything, to happen... Well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Eric’s clearly expecting something from how he shifts his body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s always been particular of keeping himself clean when they do anal play, so she knows he’s fine in that regard. And, if anything, she’s merely curious what his reaction will be since she knows he’s never experienced this particular act either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And she has been comparing him to a snack this entire time...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So it’s time for a five course meal of man ass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wo—Woah! Mgnh…!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>First she pecks a kiss, then she carefully traces her tongue over the rim of his asshole, hand gripping his cheeks harder, her nails digging into his soft, throbbing skin. The lube coating his hole is water based, and she smells the soap he must have recently used on himself. She then feels him clench under the palm of her hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra leans back, rubbing her lips and giving him a playful swat, though the previous walloping he just received makes him extra sensitive so his entire body jolts. His accompanying whimper makes a strike of arousal shoot straight to her clit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess that’s one thing the Québécois are good for… You’ve got delicious asses.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re— You’re so </span>
  <em>
    <span>dirty,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he replies with a hint of laughter in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And here I was under the impression you made yourself squeaky clean just for me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s about to say something, but his voice is cut off with a shrill gasp when she dives in for another round of rimming. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep watching yourself in the mirror,” Cassandra orders in between licks. The way Eric’s gasps matches up with the movements of her tongue makes her feel especially good about what she was doing. Her tongue teases and dances around his entrance, and before long and she gathers up some saliva and spits into his hole.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She reaches down to give his balls a small lick, trailing up his perineum before swirling her tongue around the ring of muscle before slowly entering. She slowly thrusts in and out, massaging his ass with her hands. Granted, she’s unsure if she’s really massaging his ass at all considering how his cheeks must still sting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A-Ah… Mgn…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But judging by his moans and whimpering, Eric doesn’t seem to mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra flicks her tongue against his opening, and Eric’s body squirms and trembles under her ministrations. When she enters him again, his tight and wet walls cling onto her tongue. His robust hips thrust into the air, chasing more pleasure and she punishes such brazen grinding by giving him another hard spank.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thirty-six!” He </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeals, </span>
  </em>
  <span>entire body jolting and shuddering, though she doesn’t miss how he seems to be stifling more noises. Noises that seem suspiciously close to a set of giggles. Oho. Is her tongue making him ticklish?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That just makes her lick more fervently. She flicks her tongue in all directions, Eric’s squirming becoming all the more amusing to her. When he arches his back she leans back, taking the moment to wipe her lips again. At some point during all that his shirt was pulled up, and now she’s got a good look at his bare back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His sweaty, erotic body flushes red. She’s never seen anything more arousing and pleasure shoots through her like a series of electric shocks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The way he twitches— it’s like he’s inviting her to take him. His expression is tight, and considering how he moves, Cassandra quickly realizes that she’s successfully edged him without even realizing it. Aw, his cock must be feeling awfully tight and hot right about now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hell, her own shorts are beginning to feel tight and her cock is fake!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stands, eyes narrowing in mischief.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Next part of your training. Get up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It takes him a few seconds for him to actually respond.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“E-Eh...?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What, were you expecting to just lay there as I did all the work? Don’t be lazy.” For good measure, she hits his ass again, and that certainly jolts him to attention. He stands obediently, legs shaking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...Thirty-seven,” he whispers, and Cassandra snickers before a spur of the moment idea weasels its way into her head when she sees precum on the bench.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grabs his discarded underwear, wiping the precum, then she spits on it. She looks at Eric expectantly, but not before glancing down at his rock hard cock that’s clearly begging for further stimulation and release.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Open up,” She doesn’t miss how his pupils dilate in desire when he does as commanded, and he stuffs his own underwear in his mouth. “Keep biting onto that if you know what’s good for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now feeling far too warm for her own good, Cassandra then finally frees herself from her sports bra and shorts, now completely naked save for the strap-on. Her breasts are especially sweaty from being stuck in something so confining for so long, and another streak of wetness flows down her thigh from her clit grinding on the base of the strap-on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric looks as though he’s ready to come then and there, so she smirks and lays on her back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice is gleeful, just dripping with feverish excitement. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do some squats. You’ve got to keep his leg muscles in shape.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The air is filled with the thick, heavy scent of arousal when Eric stands over her, lining the dildo with his ass while obediently keeping his soaked underwear between his teeth. An absolutely display of perversion that makes her hungry in a completely different manner.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric reaches behind himself to line the cock with his asshole, after seeming to prepare himself for the main event, he then squats down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hnnrg… mpph!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>From the lube and her saliva, he’s able to take the entire length of the dildo quite easily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so loose,” Cassandra laughs. “Well, keep exercising. You do have a tournament to prepare for.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She folds her arms behind her head to enjoy the show, a big, toothy smile spreading across her lips. Eric begins to bend and contract his knees in order to bounce on the generously sized toy. Each bounce creates obscene, wet noises from the lube inside him being mixed up, and the movements in turn creates further stimulation for her cunt as the toy grinds against her groin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The mere thought of the walls of his rectum contracting around the dildo arouses her more than it should.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes at times roll back from the onslaught of pleasure, but she can see he’s trying his damndest to continue watching himself in the mirror. Her boyfriend braces both of his legs as he exerts his strength to triumphantly straddle her. He moves his hips more quickly, smacking his hips against hers with each squat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After a minute of him riding her, Cassandra spits into the palms of her hands, reaching forward to grab his cock to give him a firm handjob.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t been expecting that, as his movements stutter, and he chokes on a gasp that’s stifled by his impromptu gag.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mngh..! Nngh!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She moves her hand up and down his thick, veiny cock. Once he’s able to gather himself, Eric fucks himself with renewed vigour. There is a rhythmic sloppy sound from his continued squatting. With his hard bouncing and the friction from her hands, he must be getting awfully close.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Cassandra has reached her own limit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She writhes in pleasure when one final grind against her throbbing clit makes her arch her back. Her pussy contracts, mouth parting in a satisfied sigh as her orgasm washes over her in waves. She doesn’t stop her ministrations on his cock, even when her toes curl in growing bliss.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric must be seeing stars right about now, if his expression is anything to go by. He desperately chases his own release, his squatting becoming more hectic in the process, and she can only imagine that his thigh muscles must be feeling like they’re on fire.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When his underwear falls from his mouth, tongue hanging out slovenly from his mouth as his eyes roll back, she knows it’s time. She quickens her handjob and Eric’s body freezes and tenses when he cums. His voice is croaky and exhausted, and healthy streams of cum shoots out of his cock and lands onto Cassandra’s breasts. He lets out a shuddering gasp of pleasure as he continues to release his load helplessly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As the intensity of his ejaculations start to settle down after what feels like an eternity, he musters a cheeky grin. Eric staggers where he stands, legs shaking noticeably when he lifts himself to remove the dildo from his used ass. It pops out of him, and while he manages to catch himself so it doesn’t outright crash down on her, his body weight suddenly being on top of her does still catch her by surprise.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmrgh…” He groans loudly, face between her tits and against his own pool of semen. He lazily licks at his own fluids, as well as her sweat, before he fixes his skewed glasses. “M’gotta… clean…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra laughs softly, carding her fingers through his hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s your ass?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sore.” He mumbles, looking at her from between the valley of her breasts. His face is still flushed. “...You, ah… Licking me down there caught me by surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A good surprise I hope.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm. I just… Wasn’t expecting it. Honestly, it was something I always wanted to try but was always a bit too embarrassed to ask…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eric, I spanked you and made you bite into your underwear after using it to wipe up your precum. Then I made you squat on a dildo. And you say you’re too embarrassed to get your asshole licked?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face flushes, and he bashfully scratches his cheek with a wry grin. “It’s just… I’d be specifically asking you to do something. And I know you’re a domme, so I just figured using your tongue on me there would be, I don’t know, too degrading? It just doesn’t seem—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She brings a finger to his lips, “And I had you whimpering and shaking under me. When I do it, it’ll be to tease you and make you squirm. When I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>make </span>
  </em>
  <span>you eat my ass out, I’ll make sure it’s extra degrading.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His cheeks somehow become redder, “R-Right… It’s the intent that makes the difference,” he purses his lips together for a moment and whispers, “Make sure to make it extra degrading… I think I’ll like that a lot. But you gotta clean yourself too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She playfully rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Duh. Don’t you know I’m always considerate when I demean my slutty little Québécois.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He attempts to hide how flustered he is by asking a question.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you always spit in your hands before giving me a handjob?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dry palms run the risk of giving your dick friction burn.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At this point it’s become such a habit that she really can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>spit into her hands whenever she touches his cock, regardless of whether she gives him a handjob or not. And she’s fairly certain she may have inadvertently given Eric a bit of a spit kink.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks, apparently having never thought of that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Friction burn… Wow, I really do have such a considerate girlfriend,” he says dreamily, and she snorts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Very considerate. Now, get up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them sit up, and Cassandra leans into peck him on the lips, which quickly evolves into an open mouthed kiss. When they part, his flushed face makes her feel as though she might be willing to do a round-two. If anything, she knows he’s going to offer to eat out her pussy sooner rather than later, as he always does whenever he doesn’t get the chance to use his mouth on her during the first round. Because he’s the considerate type, too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She winks at him coyly, saying, “Let’s head to the showers.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Cassandra and Eric are walking to their dorms hand in hand, they come across Harley and Remi.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two women stop and stare at one another. They are silent, and if this were a western, tumbleweed would be rolling between them right about now. From the corner of her eyes, Cassandra sees that Eric is looking at her with a questioning gaze, and he and Remi share a glance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cassandra steps forward, as does Harley, and they approach each other stoically. Then they bring their hands back and—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They clasp each other's hand in a firm, strong handshake. Despite having fucked their men out of sight and out of hearing distance from the other, they both share a silent acknowledgement to the other woman’s domming prowess. They both feel a strong sense of camaraderie. Their little competition, a bet one could say, ends with no losers. Only winners! Because they fucked their men well—!!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good job,” Cassandra says seriously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Same to you,” Harley replies coolly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Absolute professionalism.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric and Remi stand around mostly confused about the display, though they nod at each other with a knowing look. Especially when they take note of the other’s slightly awkward gait.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am of the firm belief that people who kink in the general public deserved to be shamed while being shoved in a locker by a couple of jocks. Kinkshaming is a victimless crime.</p>
<p>But luckily with fiction I can do whatever I want. :-)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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